


Listen

by lasvegas_lights



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Inspired by a Movie, M/M, musician!Jared, musician!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasvegas_lights/pseuds/lasvegas_lights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music is a part of Jensen, it's in his blood, it's what he lives for and everyone that meets him for more than five minutes knows he's destined for greatness. But sometimes the music is drowned out by the demands of a pushy father, who's determination to give Jensen the best chance in life possible has alienated his son. </p><p>Jared is a young guitarist, travelling the country with his uncle, taking work where they can. He doesn't know what his future holds until he meets Jensen. They meet by chance and there's an instant connection, but when life pulls them apart, it's up fate and music to bring them back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 J2 Big Bang on Livejournal - Inspired by the film August Rush.  
> Click on the links inside the fic to listen to the music being performed.

**Listen, can you hear it? The music, I can hear it everywhere, in the wind, in the air, in the light, it’s all around us, all you have to do is open yourself up, all you have to do is listen.**

**Sometimes the world tries to knock it out of you, but I believe in music the way that some people believe in fairy tales.**

-          **August Rush**

 

People always told Jensen he was born a musician, as if it was written down somewhere, like he had no control over what he became. Music became part of his life so early in his childhood that he doesn’t remember a time when he couldn’t hear the music, couldn’t hear the piano concertos, played flawlessly by his mother. When he slept, he dreamt of black notes on sheets of music paper and of taut strings ready to be played. It was in his blood, such a part of him that he heard the music in everything. The same way an artist sees watercolour vistas and charcoal portraits in their mind, Jensen heard the rhythm in people’s footsteps and the beat in trains rushing over tracks.

He started to learn the violin the minute he was old enough to hold one, loving every sound he pulled from the bow and strings, even if it wasn’t perfectly in tune. He picked everything up quickly, learning songs in an hour and demanding harder and harder songs each week. His tutor told him he had a gift, had natural talent, and Jensen didn’t understand why everyone was so amazed at his abilities. To him, it wasn’t a skill or a gift, or any of the other words used to describe it. It was just him, part of who he was. He loved everything about his violin, loved closing his eyes and just playing whatever notes felt right, loved tuning the strings and polishing the red wood. His mother just smiled at him when his fingers pressed down on imaginary strings whenever his violin was in its case and joined in when he hummed tunes.

He didn’t touch his violin for three months after she died, refused to even step in the music room where his case lay on top of her shiny black grand piano. The music in his head was slow and melancholic and he hated the way it made him feel. Then one day, he picked up his violin and started playing the happiest pieces of music he knew off by heart, closing his eyes on the world and forcing the sad music away with fast swipes of his bow against the strings, loud upbeat notes and silly tunes.

He threw everything he had into his music after that, every spare moment dedicated to his violin. His father began to oversee his music lessons and Jensen was more than happy to let his father control his life, to let him push Jensen to do more recitals and hire the best violin tutor money could buy: Jeff Morgan. Jeff was an ex-teacher at the Boston Conservatory before choosing the rewarding experience of one-on-one private tutoring. Jensen liked Jeff instantly, feeling calm in his presence. He was the complete opposite of his father. He didn’t put any pressure on Jensen and never judged him. The lessons were long and hard, his chin hurting after every lesson but, if it meant he could lose himself for even a moment, it was all worth it.

With Jeff’s help, he saw what everyone else had been seeing in him since he was a child: potential. Potential to be great, potential to be the best, and it made him work harder, made him want to succeed they way his father had been planning since he was ten years old. 

He played in his first professional concert when he was fourteen, the stage, the musicians all around felt like the closest thing to home he’d felt in a long time. The concert schedule grew once he finished his GED early, visiting city after city until he lost track of where exactly he was. With him barely in town for more than a week, he quickly got used to living out of a suitcase, eating room service and spending all his time practising with Jeff, a constant companion on their travels. Jeff wasn’t talkative, keeping to himself outside of lessons and they didn’t stay in any town long enough for Jensen to make friends.  Jensen’s father distanced himself from Jensen, preferring to point out Jensen’s mistakes rather than praising his performances.  Jensen slowly learnt his father did not truly understand him, not like his mother had. He didn’t love music like Jensen did. 

***********

Jensen sits quietly in his assigned dressing room, his violin resting on his lap as he polishes it with long slow strokes. It’s already shining, polished within an inch of its life, but there’s something about the act that always calms him. It’s part of his pre-performance routine, one of the few things in his life he can rely on. No matter what happens, where he is, he always affords himself this time. It’s just him and his violin.

The room is like every other dressing room in every single concert hall around the country: white walls, a single smudged mirror, a wooden chair and a small clothes rack. He never stays at one concert hall long enough to personalise it but Jensen always tacks up a worn photo of his mother to the mirror. It’s been folded and unfolded so many times there’s a visible line through her body but it stops him from feeling suffocated by the impersonal nothingness of the room. 

Through the thick fire door he can hear other performers warming up their instruments, the odd sounds of brass trumpets and French horns against oboes and clarinets doing arpeggios, almost drowned out by other violinists each playing a different drawn out note fill the air. It wouldn’t sound like music to most people, in fact, Jensen has heard it being described as noise but Jensen loves every odd note and wishes he could be out there with them.

The door creaks open behind him and Jensen’s eyes flick up to the mirror, recognising his father in the reflection. He stays silent as his eyes fall back down to his violin cradled in his hands.

Alan Ackles clears his throat before addressing his son. “Are you ready?” He asks. Jensen’s ready for the question, just a part of his father’s own routine. Everything is always the same, always predictable.

Jensen nods dumbly then pulls himself to his feet before lifting the horsehair bow from his case. He makes it to the doorway before a firm hand on his shoulder stops him. “Don’t rush the third section like you did last night.” Alan Ackles never says good luck, always believing luck has nothing to do with Jensen’s gift.

“I know,” Jensen responds softly, waiting for his father to lift his hand away before walking down the corridor towards the hall.

With his violin in one hand and his bow in the other, he takes his place at the front of the stage. Others around him are taking their own seats and, if he squints, he can see the audience trickle in through the bright lights. As the orchestra forms around him, women in expensive jewellery holding onto the arms of well dressed men arrive, looking for their assigned seats.

Jensen waits with a hidden impatience as the conductor arrives and introductions are made. As the first note is played, Jensen slips into a trance. His focus is on the black notes in front of him, every semiquaver and crochet drawing him in until nothing else matters. He just plays, presses calloused fingers down, drags the bow across the strings and produces every note perfectly.

There’s silence for a splinter of a second after the piece is finished before the clapping starts. Jensen hates the applause, wincing at the sharp cracks, the noise too loud as it buzzes in his head and removes all traces of the music he tries to hold on to.  He stands and bows when his name is called, feeling relieved when he’s allowed to leave the stage and return to the safety of his dressing room.

He doesn’t expect compliments from his father on the drive back to the hotel. He never receives a _well done_. Jensen doesn’t get praise for something he’s been able to do since he could hold a violin, praise is saved for something extraordinary.

“Don’t forget, Jeff pushed your violin lesson to three tomorrow.”

“I need a new string. I was hoping I could go into town tomorrow morning and get one.”

“I’ll take you.”

“Dad,” Jensen groans, “I’m seventeen, I can managed one short bus ride.”

Alan lets out a long sigh. Jensen hardly ever pushes his dad, he doesn’t ask for a lot and, as teenagers go,  Jensen is pretty low maintenance, yet one sigh from his father makes Jensen feel like he’s asking for a million dollars. “Okay, you can go. Be back before lunch and don’t waste your allowance on sheet music you know I’ll never let you play.”

“Thank you.”

It’s not until he’s curled under the thin hotel covers that he smiles, seeing freedom in his future. 

********

The bell above the door jingles as Jensen steps into the music shop and his eyes drift upwards to watch it still. The shop smells like varnish and coffee and it’s clear from the worn stained carpet and cracked ceiling paint that the place has been around for a while but there’s something comfortable about the place, something familiar which draws him in.

Racks of records and CD’s line one side of the shop and there’s a man with long hair and an even longer leather coat flicking through the M’s, his head nodding along to the music playing through his headphones.

Heavy metal and country rock doesn’t interest Jensen in the slightest; instead, his eyes are drawn to the instruments lining the other side of the shop. Pianos and keyboards create twisted aisles and everywhere Jensen looks there’s a flute or a trumpet or a violin, every single one shiny and waiting to be played. His eyes are wide with wonder as he passes a baby Grand, his touch too light to make a sound but he hears each and every note anyway.

As he walks further into the shop, the sounds of the busy street outside fade into the sound of a soft acoustic guitar. Jensen is pulled towards the music, listening to the thrum of each string plucked. He walks past the unmanned counter and the violin strings stacked on the shelf behind it and steps into the darkened room beyond.

Sitting on a stool in the corner is the cutest guy Jensen’s ever seen, with shaggy hair and smiling eyes. The guitar on his lap looks well loved and his hands play with confidence. There’s no sheet music sitting in front of him and Jensen certainly doesn’t recognise the song but he falls in love with it instantly. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, his fingers tapping against his thigh and his eyes shut tight.

“Hi!”

Jensen’s eyes snap open, realising too late that the music has ended, leaving his face flushed with embarrassment. His eyes meet those of the cute brunette, staring curiously back at him. He’s used to hundreds of eyes staring at him on stage but he’s never felt self conscious like this before.  

 “Er, hi,” he replies. “I’m sorry.”

The boy frowns and cocks his head to one side, “For what?”

“Intruding?” Jensen hates the way his voice squeaks like he’s never used it before. Since discovering he likes boys, he’s been on the road with only his father and his tutor for company, leaving little opportunity to have much interaction with cute boys.  He’s never been on a date, let alone kissed a guy. He’s sure he looks like an idiot, with bright red cheeks and sweating palms.

The guy smiles and Jensen goes a little weak in the knees. “If a guitar plays in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"

Jensen blinks, completely thrown by the question.

“It’s not really music if nobody hears it, is it?” He explains with a shrug. Sliding off his stool, he places his guitar down into a velvet-lined case and strides across the room. “I’m Jared,” he introduces himself. “Who are you?”

“I’m just...looking for a violin string.”

“Which one?”

“D, one eight, medium,” Jensen answers quickly and feels his breath hitch as Jared brushes past him. He smells nice. He turns and watches Jared dip under the counter and retrieve the right string packet off the wall.

“Nine fifty.”

Jensen pushes his hand into his front pocket and pulls out a crumpled ten dollar bill, stepping forward to deposit it on the counter. Jared takes the note and replaces it with two quarters. He holds out the packet but snatches it away the moment Jensen reaches for it.

“You’re not very talkative”

“I don’t...” Jensen shrugs his shoulders. “What should I say?”

Jared chuckles and the rumble sends shivers down Jensen’s spine. “Your name would be a start. I’ve told you mine.”

“Jensen.”

“Nice, very Scandinavian.” 

“Can I have my string now?”

“Not until you tell me what you thought”

“Thought?” Jensen parrots.

“My guitar.” Jared smiles lazily. “What did you think?”

“It was good.”

“Good?” Jared scoffs. “I was fantastic!”

A laugh bubbles up and escapes Jensen’s throat. This guy, with beautiful hazel eyes that sear through him like a hot knife to butter and a teasing grin, has Jensen suddenly wanting to kiss him. He is someone unlike Jensen’s ever known.

“Amazing,” Jensen breathes. “You were amazing.”

“You think so?”

“How long have you been learning?”

“Oh, I never had lessons, not proper ones anyway. My uncle plays, too.  I just watched him and then just started myself when I was big enough to hold a guitar. Didn’t know what I was doing, just plucked and strummed until things started to sound good, I just play for fun.” Jared shrugs. “You? I assume violin is your instrument of choice.” He grins and finally hands over the string.

Jensen nods, grabbing hold of the packet tightly. “Yeah, I play the violin.”

“You play? Or do you _play_?”

Jensen shakes his head. “I don’t understand, what’s the difference?”

“Well,” Jared begins, lifting himself up onto the counter and swinging his legs over. “Why do you play?”

“I couldn’t _not_ ,” Jensen answers softly.

Jared slides off the edge, his trainers thumping when he lands on the carpet. Suddenly, Jensen finds Jared in his personal space, close enough to feel the warmth from his body. “It’s a part of you, like you can’t breathe without it,” Jared speaks and it’s like he’s reading Jensen’s mind, reading his _heart_.

“You feel it too?” Jensen asks, almost inaudibly.

Jared nods slowly and a soft smile splits his face. 

There’s something in the air that tastes like anticipation and Jensen’s heart thumps relentlessly in his chest. He’s completely out of his depth. He doesn’t know how to act around cute guys and he’s certain he’s going to make a fool of himself. Jared will soon see the true Jensen, the awkward boy who’s never been kissed before.

Jensen jolts when the bell above the door chimes suddenly, dropping the string packet and stumbling back from Jared like he has something to hide.  His head whips around sharply, his eyes landing on the slender framed music geek who steps over the threshold, pierced nose, skinny jeans and ironic t-shirt, before returning his gaze to Jared.

“You have a customer.”

“Amazing observation you have there.” Jared laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s just Luka, he comes in every day, browses the CD racks with an air of disdain, muttering to himself about ITunes, then walks out again,” he says as he bends down to pick up Jensen’s violin string and, once again, holds it out for Jensen to take.

Jensen feels self conscious as he takes the packet, avoiding Jared’s gaze. “I should go, I have to get back to my hotel.”

“So soon?” Jared pouts.

“My dad, he’s waiting for me,” Jensen explains. “Nice to meet you, Jared” He reverses back, nearly crashing into a saxophone display and tries to make a hasty exit before he  embarrasses himself further.

“Wait!” Jensen gets all the way to the door before he feels a hand grab his arm and spin him around. “What’s your number?”

“I- I don’t have a cell phone,” Jensen stutters.

“Oh, right.” Jared’s grip loosens, his arm falling away. “Sorry, I just... you want to go to a party?” Jared asks. “With me, I mean?” He adds a second later.

Jensen’s eyes widen. “A party? With you?”

“It’s tonight, above the music shop,” Jared continues.

Jensen goes from floating a foot off the ground with happiness to feet firmly back on the ground, leaving him sighing heavily. If he didn’t have a concert tonight, if he didn’t have an overprotective father and a life where music runs his life, then perhaps he could say yes. He wonders what his life would be like if he’d never picked up a violin, or if his mother was still alive. Would he be a typical teenager? Going on dates and studying for exams in high school? “I want to, I do,” Jensen croaks.

“But?” Jared senses.

“I’m performing, tonight, a recital at the Copley Symphony Hall,” he explains. “I don’t finish until ten.”

“But you could come after, right?” Jared tries, feeling hopeful. “Trust me; the party won’t get interesting until ten.”

Jensen knows exactly what his father would think if he asked if he could go to a party after the concert, especially with a stranger in a strange city. But there’s a spark inside him, the thrill of rebellion, the idea that, for one night, the first in seventeen years, he can do what he wants to do, damned the consequences. Every normal teen has one crazy night that gets them grounded for a year, right?

“Yes, I can come after,” he answers, feeling adrenaline course through him, an excitement in him he hasn’t felt for a long time.

Seeing Jared’s smile is worth the risk.

Jensen returns to the hotel with a smile that won’t leave his face and it starts to ache by the afternoon.  Jeff certainly notices, sending strange looks at Jensen as he warms up with arpeggios. Jensen’s mind drifts to other things and his music sounds sloppy, earning a frown from his father, silently observing the lesson as usual. Jensen loves every single wrong note.

 

******

 

Jensen returns to his dressing room as soon as he’s allowed. His face is red and blotchy from the heat of the lighting, accentuated in the harsh tungsten lighting as he stares at himself in the mirror. The applause is still audible, though Jensen knows he deserves none of it. He certainly didn’t perform his best and he didn’t need to see his father’s face to know the disappointment was there.

He had been buzzing with excitement up until the second act when the doubt set in and he spent the intermission pacing up and down the six by nine foot dressing room, the note for his father gripped in his right hand.

He stares at the note now, knowing that no matter what it says, his dad is going to be pissed, but at least the explanation of his whereabouts should stop him from calling the police and reporting him missing.

“Jensen!” His father’s voice comes out of nowhere, causing Jensen to jerk in surprise, and he hurriedly stuffs the note into his pocket. He looks up just in time to see his father step into the dressing room and hone in on Jensen. “What on earth was that?” Alan demands, hands on hips and nostrils flared. “It’s like you weren’t even paying attention tonight.”

“I’m-“

“I don’t want excuses, Jensen,” Alan quickly cuts him off.  “If this is the standard we’re all to expect from you from now on, you might as well give up and sell your violin on eBay.”

“It was just one bad night!” Jensen defends himself. His throat feels tight and his face is warm with humiliation. His father’s voice can certainly be heard outside where the rest of the musicians are. Every time his father talks to him like this, he feels like a five-year-old and it makes him want to scream until he’s hoarse.

“Well, it’s going to be the last, I’m upping your practice sessions until I’m satisfied you’re actually improving and not worsening. Now, pack up, I have to talk to a couple of people so I want you ready to go when I get back.” He pivots sharply and leaves without another word.

There’s a high-pitched ringing in Jensen’s ears as he pulls the now crumpled note out of his pocket and places it carefully on the lid of his violin case. In the doorway, his coat gripped in one hand, he checks the hallway for any sight of his father before walking as fast as possible to the backstage exit. He passes fellow musicians packing up their own instruments and no-one looks up as he makes his escape. There’s a smile on his face as he pushes the heavy door open and slips through, letting it slam shut behind him.

The sounds of the city at night drown out his thumping heartbeat. Screeching cars and honking horns, laughter and conversations, as the concert audience spills out onto the street and music that Jensen doesn’t recognize spills from local bars and clubs, steady disco beats that clash against each other until it’s little more than noise. Jensen can hear it all.

“You are amazing.”

Jensen’s head snaps up and his wide eyes land on Jared, leaning casually against an old beat up pickup truck. “You’re here? ...You heard?” He asks as he crosses the alleyway.

“I snuck in near the end,” Jared explains. “You were...you,” Jared shakes his head, “amazing,” he repeats softly.

“My father doesn’t think so.” Jensen’s shoulders sag

Jared snorts, “Well, he must be deaf.”

Laughter bubbles up Jensen’s throat and the tension that had been coiled in his gut all day unwinds, leaving him feeling freer than he has in months. “Yeah, he must be.”

“Come on, then.” Jared nods his head back towards the truck. “Get in.”

As Jared circles the car to climb into the driver’s seat, Jensen steps up to the passenger’s side and lets himself in. With a twist of the key, the truck rumbles to life and Jensen is pushed back into his seat as the motor lurches forward down the alleyway and joins the main road. Jensen’s eyes stare at the concert hall through the rear view mirror as it shrinks and he lets out a long sigh as it moves out of sight.

Jensen’s ready for a quiet journey, so used to silence on the long car trips with his father. On those journeys, with not even the radio for entertainment, Jensen stares out of the window and watches the world pass by. He likes to crack his window open so, when they stop at traffic lights, he can hear crying babies being pushed across the road by harried mothers, barking dogs, and the revving of engines ready to speed off as soon as the light turns green. To anyone else, the sounds of the city are background noise. To him, every tap and beep, every clang and rustle, is a symphony.

“Is it just you and your dad?”

Jensen’s head whips around, forcing his gaze from the window to Jared’s face. “What?”

“You just live with your dad?” Jared repeats.

“Oh.” Jensen nods. “Yeah, and Jeff.”

“Who’s Jeff?”

“My tutor.”

Jared lets out a high-pitched whistle. “You have your own tutor? Fancy!”

“It’s nothing.” Jensen shrugs. “Really,” he says softly and stares down at his hands on his lap.

“God, I’m sorry,” Jared groans. “I have a habit of speaking before thinking.”

“No,” Jensen blurts, “please...” Jared glances at him briefly, his eyes flickering with concern. “They talk _at_ me, they don’t talk _to_ me.” They. His father and Jeff. Just once, he’d like to spend a day without any mention of music or violins or concerts. He wants a day where he’s not told when to practice.

_“Play it again, Jensen.”_

_“You’re doing it wrong.”_

_“Faster.”_

_“Not like that, try again.”_

_“Keep going.”_

_“Again.”_

_“Again.”_

_“Again.”_

“What do you want to talk about?” Jared asks, matching Jensen’s soft speech so Jensen can barely hear him over the sound of the engine.

“Tell me everything about you.”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Yeah.” Jensen smiles. “Everything.”

“Well,” Jared drawls, “I was born in Texas, June first to my mother Sherry, I weighed eight pounds- ~~.~~ ”

Jensen laughs.

“What? You said everything!”

“Are we nearly there yet?”

“Hey!”

Jensen loves the sound of Jared’s laugh.

*******

Jared leads Jensen into the music shop through the back door, his scorching, hot hand resting on his lower back. The party has obviously started by the sounds of people and music coming from upstairs. There are empty bottles left on the staircase and Jensen blushes when they squeeze past a couple wrapped up in each other halfway up.

Jensen’s eyes dart around the room as they step through the door. It’s like a whole new world to him and he takes in the sights and sounds in front of him. The room is dim, lit only by a couple of small lamps and candles lining the windowsills, creating the perfect party mood. The dinner table has been pushed to the back of the room where bowls of chips and dips cover the surface. Two large ice buckets filled with floating beer cans and bottles sit underneath, with empties littering the floor around the table legs. The party-goers are reclined on couches, bean bags, and cushions on the floor and instruments are being passed around whilst others laugh and sing. The sound of soft singing draws Jensen’s eyes over to a small group huddled around the couch, two guitarists accompanying the young woman with a voice like silk. The song is unfamiliar to Jensen but the sound is entrancing.

Jensen looks to Jared, reassuring himself that he hadn’t been left alone, “What’s the party for?”

“Oh, it’s a going away party. Me and my uncle have finished up here, and we’re off to New Jersey in a couple of days to start a new job.”

“A new job?”

Jared nods. “We go wherever the work is. It’s just me and him, in that truck outside, and a couple of guitars.”

“You don’t ever miss home?”  Jensen does.

“Home?” Jared repeats. “The truck is my home; Uncle Lucas is my home.”

“But, don’t you hate moving from place to place, making friends, only to leave them behind?” Jensen’s given up trying to make friends.

“And then arrive somewhere new and  make new friends.” Jared shrugs. “You want a drink?”

Jensen nods, sensing the end of the conversation, and follows Jared across the room to the drinks.

“Beer?”

“Got a soda?” Jensen’s in enough trouble as it is without arriving back to the hotel room with the smell of alcohol on his breath. 

Jared digs around in the ice bucket and retrieves a can of Coke before pulling out a bottle of beer for himself. The can chills his skin and it hisses as he opens it.

“JT!”

Jensen gulps down the fizzy drink and looks for the source of the voice. In the dim lighting, he sees an older man sitting cross legged on the floor, a cushion the only comfort from the hard wood underneath. He has the same build as Jared, strong arms and sharp features, but his face reveals years of hard labour.

“Over here, come play!”

Jensen’s eyes widen as Jared’s fingers slide through his and grip tightly before he’s being dragged back across the room to the small gathering around the couch. The group shuffles around until there’s enough space for Jared and Jensen to join them and Jared sits first, yanking Jensen down with him. With ten strange faces staring back at him with curiosity, it’s only Jared’s presence beside him that stops him from feeling completely out of his depth. He’s never been good with strangers, always finding it a struggle to make a connection, finding something he has in common.

“Luc, this is Jensen; Jensen, this is my uncle Lucas.”

A large calloused hand is pushed in Jensen’s direction and he takes it in his own. His whole arm shakes, his shoulder almost pulled out of its socket from Lucas’ enthusiastic greeting.

“Nice to meet ya, Jensen. JT, here, just hasn’t shut up about you since this morning.”

Jared’s cheeks flush. “Shut up, I have not.”

“I can see why.” Lucas winks.

“Luc, stop embarrassing him!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Lucas holds both hands up in surrender. “You going to show us a thing or two, now? Jack, hand JT his guitar.”

The same guitar Jared had been playing earlier today is pressed into his hands and he arranges the large instrument in his lap. “What do you want me to play?” He asks, leaving Jensen looking around to see who he’s talking to you. “What’s your favourite song, Jensen?”

Once again, he feels twenty eyes on him as he shrugs. “I only know violin pieces, I don’t get a chance to listen to much else,” he admits reluctantly, softly, in the hope that it only reaches Jared’s ears and no-one else’s.

Jared sends him an understanding smile. “I think you’ll like this one.” His fingers find the right strings with practised ease and with a pick he pulls out of his back pocket, he begins to strum gently. The melody is gentle and the notes intricate, Jared’s fingers move from chord to chord from memory. The room falls silent as everyone stops to listen as the intro finishes and Jared opens his mouth to sing. 

_“[Sunlight flows across your back and I can’t move, I can’t react.”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4jgovKs0kA)_

For the briefest of moments, Jensen forgets how to breathe.  When he lifts his eyes and meets Jared’s, piercing through him as he sings, he remembers once more.

_“Do you know what you do to me? You got me completely.”_

Jared’s voice isn’t perfect, it cracks on the high notes, but Jensen couldn’t care less. Jared might be performing in a room full of people, but Jensen knows without a doubt that Jared’s singing to him, and him alone.

_“And not for long I’ve been with you, but I feel like I was made for you. Do you know what you do to me, if you could love me completely.”_

Jensen falls. Head over heels.

_“I can’t explain how I feel about you.”_

Every word Jared sings shines in his eyes.

_“Without you.”_

He doesn’t understand how this happened; not this fast, not this hard. He’s gone from hopelessly shy loner to this, in less than twenty-four hours. What is it about Jared that makes his head go light when Jared smiles at him or his blood rush when they touch?

_“Without you.”_

He wishes this all wasn’t so public, feeling too exposed under the room’s gaze, Lucas’ knowing eyes, watching him carefully. He’s torn between wanting the song to end and never wanting Jared to stop playing.

_“Without you.”_

When the song does finish, everyone claps and whistles loudly. Lucas slaps Jared on the back proudly and Jared rolls his eyes at all the attention.

The song, Jared’s expression, and the tightly packed room start to have an effect and Jensen pulls at his jacket, feeling the heat suffocate him. He’s sure he looks like a tomato and, as sweat forms at the back of his neck, he feels even more self conscious, especially with Jared sitting next to him looking like a Greek god.

“You okay Jensen?”

Jensen shakes his head. “It’s a little hot in here,” he admits.

“Let’s go outside then,” Jared responds, holding out his hand for Jensen to take, his guitar still firmly gripped in his other hand.

Uncle Lucas leads the chorus of wolf whistles as Jensen is dragged through a door and up another set of stairs. Jared throws back one loud “Shut it, you guys!” before pulling Jensen through a door and shutting it behind them. “I’m sorry about them, they think they’re funny”

Jensen doesn’t reply, his whole focus on the jaw-dropping view of the city before him. The roof terrace he’s been brought to is small, with potted plants in the corners and a bench filling up what little space there is. From the edge, Jensen can see for miles, though in the darkness, he can only guess what’s out there by the twinkling lights.

“Not a bad view, is it?” Jared drops down onto the bench and rests the guitar on his lap. “Now, this up here, I’ll miss. But who knows? The next place might have an even better view.”

“Or no view at all,” Jensen counters.

“I like not knowing what I’m going to find,” Jared answers. “Last year, we spent two months living in this old classic diner in the middle of nowhere, a year before that, the pool house in this huge Beverly Hills mansion...it’s an adventure!”

“The most adventure I get is choosing what to get from room service.”

Jared laughs. “What an exciting life you lead.”

Jensen sighs heavily as he sits down.

“Are you happy, Jensen?”

“I’m...” Jensen searches for the right words. “Doing what I need to do to make my father happy.”

“But when was the last time you did something for yourself? Name one thing you’ve always wanted to do and never done?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen mumbles, giving Jared a half-hearted shrug. It’s not something he’s spent a lot of time thinking about, his whole world is consumed by his violin and his future.

“Ever wanted to play guitar?” Jared grins.“You are in luck, you know, sitting next to such a talented and patient guitar teacher.” Jared motions to his guitar like it’s the grand prize in a quiz show.

Jensen chuckles. “Go on then, try and teach me a thing or two.”

“Awesome!” Jared’s smile lights up his face, clearly excited to pass on some of his knowledge to Jensen.

Jensen stays silent as Jared’s hands manhandle them both so he is sitting with his chest pressed up to Jensen’s back and hands the guitar over. “Okay, so hold it here, and you want your fingers here.” Slowly, Jared’s hand manipulates Jensen’s fingers until they are pressed against the right strings. His other hand rests on top of Jensen’s and shows him slowly how to strum. “That’s a C, see? Easy!”

With Jared’s warm body pressed up against him, and his face pressed into his neck so Jensen can feel his hot breath against his skin, Jensen struggles to concentrate as Jared moves his fingers into a new position. He can’t deny the effect Jared’s proximity is having on Jensen; his whole body feels like it’s on fire.

The taught strings vibrate as they create not-quite right chords. The guitar certainly doesn’t have the elegance of the violin, but there’s still something beautiful about the sound it makes.

Soon, Jared moves his hands away, choosing instead to place them at Jensen’s waist, and directs Jensen which strings to hold down.

“No,” Jared says softly when Jensen gets it wrong, “like this.” Once again, Jared reaches around and moves Jensen’s fingers into the correct position. “Much better.” Jensen feels Jared smile against his neck. “You’re a natural,” he compliments and Jensen snorts.

“I’ve been playing violin since I was four, try asking me to play a trombone, won’t feel so natural then.”

Jared lets out a low chuckle. “Are you saying my precious guitar is just a giant violin?”

“Your precious guitar?” Jensen parrots.

“She’s called Rosie.”

“And you named it?”

“You haven’t named yours?”

Jensen shakes his head. “Should I?”

“Only if you want. Now, come on. Now you know some chords, we can put together a tune.”

“A tune? I know three chords,” Jensen reminds him with mild panic.

“It’s okay,” Jared soothes him, his calm voice instantly relaxing. “I’ll do the chords, you strum.”  Jensen moves his hand away so Jared can reach the strings and watches the way Jared finds the right chord without even looking. “Play,” Jared instructs, and a smile forms slowly across Jensen’s face as Jared’s strong fingers form chord after chord.

He gasps when Jared begins to sing, his husky voice against Jensen’s ear. This time, this song, it’s just for him and no one else. “ _[Two heart’s fading,](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XcJpzQuB80) like a flower, and all this waiting for the power, for some answer to this fire, sinking slowly, water’s higher.”_

Jensen can feel Jared’s chest vibrate against his back, feels each word inside him.  

“ _Desire, desire.”_

His rhythm falters when Jared’s fingers slip underneath his shirt, his hand frozen against the strings, and Jared stops singing. A minute passes in silence, Jared’s breaths grounding Jensen, pulling him back from his whirring brain. All he can think about is Jared’s hand on his skin and what that means. “Are you...is this?” Jensen stutters, sounding like the inexperienced idiot that he is.

“Look at me, Jen.”

Jensen shivers at the way Jared says his name and slowly twists his neck around until Jared comes into his line of vision.

“I don’t know how this happened, not this soon,” Jared whispers.

“I’m...I’ve never…” He shakes as Jared moves in closer and gently, tentatively, presses his puckered lips to Jensen’s. The moment is fleeting, almost so fast that Jensen wonders if it actually happened and he licks his lips in the hope of tasting the evidence.

“Can I? Again?” Jared asks hopefully and Jensen can only nod dumbly, desperately, before Jared kisses him again. Jensen’s sure his uncoordinated, sloppy impression of a kiss is the least sexy thing possible, but then Jared moans against him and his hand slips further under his shirt.

Jensen pulls away with a jerk and gasps out for air. “Wait!”

“Did I do something wrong?” Jared asks, his eyebrows’ slant revealing his concern.

“No!” Jensen quickly shakes his head. “It’s just...happening fast.”

“You’re right,” Jared agrees, shuffling backwards on the bench to give Jensen some room to breathe. “Of course, you’re right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jared frowns. “For what?”

Jensen sighs and gently lowers Jared’s guitar to the ground, resting it against the bench. “For not being ready for more,” he admits, ducking his head to avoid Jared’s gaze. If this is the moment Jared rejects him for turning him down, he doesn’t want to see the look in his eyes as it happens. He doesn’t expect the feather light brush of Jared’s lips against the back of his neck, the barely there kiss sending shivers down his spine.

“We can just sit here...I could keep you warm,” Jared suggests.

“I’d like that.” Jensen smiles, feeling relief wash over him. Jared’s arms snake around Jensen’s waist, his hands clasping together over Jensen’s stomach. Jensen feels relaxed in Jared’s arms, feels safe, and he rests his head back on Jared’s shoulder.

Time passes without another word, random cries of laughter from the party downstairs remind them that they’re not alone. A car horn honks from the street below, a round of applause starts up downstairs, then bells begin to ring in the distance. Jensen counts each dong, all twelve of them.

“No,” he gasps, and his stomach drops as realises what the twelve peals mean. “No, no, no, no, no!” He pulls himself out of Jared’s embrace and scrambles to his feet.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s midnight, Jared! I lost track of time and now I’m going to be late getting back to the hotel,” he cries. “I need to leave.”

Jared grabs Jensen’s hand before he can flee. “Relax, I’ll drive you back,” he promises, punctuating it with a hand squeeze that Jensen’s too flustered to return.

They descend the staircase and slip through the party unnoticed, Jared refusing to let go of Jensen’s hand until they reach the truck. Jensen feels sick. All he wanted was a couple of hours with Jared, something he knew his father wouldn’t understand. He’s not a rebel, he doesn’t like causing trouble, yet here he is, out past midnight. The guilt is like a weight in his stomach.

Jared seems to understand his distraction and keeps quiet during the fifteen minute trek across the city.  Jensen lets out the breath he’d been holding when the neon lights of the Empire Hotel come into sight.

Before Jensen can jump out of the truck, he’s grabbed by the lapel of his jacket and lips are press against his. “Goodnight, Cinderella,” Jared whispers against his lips, then lets go, sitting back in his seat.

“Thank you, Jared,” Jensen replies, not sure what he’s saying thank you for, driving him back to the hotel or the best night of his life. There’s not enough time to ask what the future holds for them, barely enough time to take one last look back at Jared as he runs towards the hotel entrance.

 He runs through the reception and into the nearest available elevator, tapping his foot impatiently as in ascends up the building to the seventh floor. Bracing himself for the worst, he pushes his key card into the slot and opens the door.

His head whips around as the door closes behind him and his eyes land on his father, sitting on the couch, his face a stone, and Jensen’s letter gripped in his hand.  His mind goes blank, including the litany of apologies he had ready.  He feels small and fragile as he stands before his father, accepting whatever punishment is put upon him.

“You left a note,” Alan says calmly. “Just a note.”

Jensen swallows the lump in his throat. “I knew you wouldn’t let me go,” he explains, forcing the sound out of his tight throat.

“So you went anyway? Wherever the hell you went? You just disappeared, Jensen! I didn’t know where you were and if you were okay...I was ready to call the cops!” He snaps, eyes wide with anger.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry.”

“I’m your father, Jensen, you can’t go behind my back when you want to do something you know I will disapprove of, you can’t just run off when you feel like it. What you did was irresponsible and selfish!”

“I know.” Jensen nods his head, lowering his eyes.

Alan gets to his feet and crosses the distance between him and Jensen. He presses a firm hand to the back of Jensen’s neck and presses his head to Jensen’s. “Don’t you do that to me again, you hear? _Never.”_

“I promise,” Jensen whispers.

“Now, go to bed, you’re grounded.” He turns his back to Jensen, effectively ending the conversation. Jensen’s shoulders sag and he does as he’s told, knowing it could have been a lot worse.

Much later, with his father snoring in the twin bed beside him and his own eyelids heavy, he presses a finger to his lips and smiles, remembering Jared and his perfect first kiss. 

******

 

Jensen is given the silent treatment at breakfast; each clang of spoons against cereal bowls suddenly sounds jarring to his ears. He meets Jeff’s questioning eyes across the table but he can’t explain without breaking the tense silence forced on them by his father.  Jensen decides to keep his eyes down and his mouth shut.

Pushing his rice pops around his bowl until they are soggy, he waits to hear what today’s punishment for last night’s escapade will be. Alan eats his cereal, one slow mouthful at a time, then sips his coffee slowly, clearly aware of Jensen’s squirming. Once his empty mug is placed back on the table, he clasps his hands together and looks over at Jensen, his eyes revealing no emotion as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I have an important business lunch today downtown; it could determine your whole future. Whilst I am out, I want you practising; I want you to prove to me that you deserve the future I am working very hard to build for you. Jeff has plans with old friends but will be leaving you sheet music. When I return, you will perform for me, and I expect every note to be perfect. Is that understood?”

Jensen’s response is a jerky nod, deciding once again to not risk aggravating his father any further.

“Good.” Alan pushes his chair back sharply and stands. “Eat your breakfast, Jensen. Don’t play with it.” He ends the conversation and leaves to get ready. Jensen could almost laugh at his father’s idea of a conversation.

“Going to tell me what on earth is going on?” Jeff finally asks when it’s just the two of them. “What did you do?”

Jensen could question why Jeff automatically assumes it’s something he’s done, but Jeff knows Alan, and he knows Jensen well enough to put two and two together. Six years of teaching him and being a constant presence in Jensen’s musical life had turned Jeff into a surrogate uncle. He might not be touchy-feely, or even close to the warmth Jensen sometimes craves, but he understands Jensen’s relationship with his father enough to lend a sympathetic ear when it’s needed, and Jensen can trust whatever he says won’t get back to his father.

 “What haven’t I done?” Jensen sighs. It seems, these days, his shortcomings outweigh his successes.

“You need to stop pissing him off”

“Right,” Jensen returns dryly. “I’ll get right on that.” He pushes his own chair back enough to stand and follows his father’s exit back up to the room to find his violin.

He finds the case sitting on the coffee table where his father has left it. There’s a need to see if his instrument is okay, and he knows he’s overprotective of the violin. It’s just hollow wood, varnish, and strings, yet Jensen takes more care in keeping it in good condition than most people look after their pets. This object, this possession, has been with him day and night ever since his mother bought it for him when he was eight, and sometimes it felt like, in his life of hotel after hotel, meeting a hundred different faces, and getting to know no-one, his violin was the one strong constant in his life. It was the one thing he could depend on, to be what he needed it to be.

Once he’s satisfied it’s still in one piece, he warms up with scales and arpeggios until Jeff appears with a handful of sheet music for him, setting it up on Jensen’s music stand for him.

“Take the third section slowly, the tempo on the staccato notes increases, you gotta hear each separate note, okay?”

Jensen nods, his eyes already consuming the pattern of black lines and dots that he reads as if it’s poetry and plays like it’s art.

Jeff bids him goodbye, visibly excited to escape the hotel for the day and relax with friends; friends Jensen’s never heard Jeff speak of, but then, for all the talking Jensen does, Jeff does even less. His father says nothing as he collects the recordings of Jensen’s performances under one arm and strides out the door, letting it shut slowly behind him. With a final click, it locks leaving Jensen alone. His stomach begins to rumble.

The next hour passes slowly, each minute punctuated by the slide of his bow against the strings and frustrated huffs when he plays the wrong note. He rolls his shoulders when they start to ache, and arches his back until he hears it crack, then puts his violin down long enough to press a bottle of water to his lips and gulp down.

A sudden knock on the door has him jerking and water escapes, dripping down his chin. Finishing his mouthful, he wipes away at the moisture with his sleeve and crosses the room quickly to answer the door. He doesn’t know who it could be; both his father and Jeff have room keys, and the hotel maids don’t turn up to change the bedding until later in the day.

His heart jumps up into his throat when he pulls back the door to see Jared standing out in the hallway. His eyes widen as he tries to form a sentence. “J-Jared, what? How? You’re here.”

“I’m sorry. I bribed the concierge, I just had to see you again,” Jared explains. “Is this a good surprise, or a bad surprise?” He asks carefully, gauging Jensen’s reaction.

Jensen takes two jerky steps back to let Jared through the doorway. “You’re here,” Jensen repeats.

“I could barely sleep last night, thinking about you.” Jared steps over the threshold and pushes the door shut behind him.

Jensen blinks. “You’re here.”

Jared’s face falls. “Okay, so this was a bad surprise, I’ll just go.”

As he turns, Jensen snaps out his shock. “No!” He reaches out, grabs hold of Jared’s arm, his fingers curling around Jared’s bicep and spins him back around. “Good surprise. No, a great surprise really, it was just... a surprise.”

“You sure?”

“Come.” Jensen’s hand slides down to Jared’s and drags him further into the room. 

Jared lets out a whistle. “Nice place you got here.” Jared glances around the hotel suite for any sign of company, as he’s pulled down onto the couch. “I’m guessing you’re alone.”

Jensen nods. “Just me.”

“I hadn’t really thought ahead, what I was going to do if your father opened the door, all I could think about was seeing you... do you believe in fate?”

“I didn’t,” Jensen says. “Not until I walked into the music shop yesterday.” His admission leaves him feeling open and exposed, but with Jared’s own feelings clear to Jensen, it’s a liberating feeling. Being with Jared means being himself, he doesn’t have to be perfect, like his father expects him to be.

“Me, too.”

Any thoughts of practising falls to the back of his mind as Jared’s hand lifts to Jensen’s cheek, his fingertips brushing the soft skin and the short coarse hair behind his ear. All he cares about is having Jared’s lips against his again; convinced he imagined the electricity between them the night before. Just Jared’s touch has his skin tingling.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Jared blurts out, like he’s been holding it in for so long that it couldn’t be held any longer, “for that job in New Jersey. They wanted uncle Luc to start early, so we’re leaving tonight.”

Suddenly, there’s a lump in Jensen’s throat that he tries to force down with a hard swallow. He’d been so caught up in the whirlwind that is Jared, that he’d forgotten that Jared was leaving and he too would be packing up to go to a new city and a new concert hall soon. Fate, it seemed, brought them together only to pull them apart.

“Oh,” Jensen sounds, his mouth forming a perfect circle.

Jensen’s face feels cold when Jared pulls his warm hand away, “I hate this...I just found you.”

“We knew, didn’t we? That you were leaving...that I’m leaving, that it couldn’t last.”

“Still.” Jared shrugs half-heartedly. “It sucks.”

“Yeah,” Jensen breathes, staring anywhere but at Jared.

“You have an email? I have an email, and I’m sure the hotel would let you check your inbox on their computer, and I know you don’t have a phone but I do, and there are payphones, and I’ll save up for my own car, and then I can come visit you wherever your dad takes you...” Jared trails off. “What I’m saying is....this doesn’t have to be the end.”

Jensen isn’t convinced. Long distance relationships don’t work, especially ones that are still newborn. No matter how strong their feelings are, this doesn’t guarantee anything. There’s nothing stopping Jared from meeting someone else, someone he can see regularly; one who doesn’t have an overbearing father, or a planned out future which doesn’t include a boyfriend – a distraction.

“Let’s just make the most of today,” Jared decides.

“And then what?” Jensen asks. He’s just trying to keep his head above the water in this sea of inexperience. With his first kiss only yesterday, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, and he looks to Jared for answers.

“We could start with this,” Jared suggests, leaning into Jensen’s space until their lips are millimetres apart. Jensen can feel Jared’s warm breath against his skin, and his eyes slide shut, submitting completely. Their noses brush as Jared finally bridges the gap, taking Jensen’s upper lip between his own, letting the press of sensitive skin linger.

Jensen hears nothing as their angled heads meet once more; the second kiss is deeper than the first, and he almost freezes when Jared’s tongue slips through and presses against his own. Forcing himself to relax, he reaches out, resting one hand at Jared’s waist whilst lifting the other  to the back of Jared’s neck, though his hands shake with nerves. His boldness pays off when the slightest touch has Jared moaning, the sound vibrating through the kiss, and a desire like he’s never felt before shoots down Jensen’s spine to his groin.  

He’s seventeen, he’s had an erection more than once, including one memorable occasion when he caught two musicians from the brass section going at it in the toilets at a concert during the intermission, but this is the first time it’s caused by someone else, pressed up close to him, and it’s equally embarrassing and exhilarating.

When Jared pulls back, Jensen takes a much needed gulp of air, only to have it stolen when Jared’s lips return, this time to press sucking kisses to Jensen’s neck. The feelings that Jared is eliciting in him are overwhelming and, through the head rush of emotions, he sees Jared’s confidence, feels his calm hands run over his body, and wonders how many have been there before him.

There’s a warmth between his legs, a completely new feeling that has him squirming. His heart pounds so hard, he’s convinced it’s going to burst out of his chest. He’d be a fool not to know where things were heading when Jared’s hand lands on his knee and starts to slide up his thigh, scalding his skin through his slacks.

His eyes scrunch shut as the world spins around him and he grips onto Jared for dear life, his blunt fingernails pressed into the back of Jared’s neck. Things are moving too fast again and he doesn’t know how to slow it all down. He can’t pretend to be relaxed anymore and it feels like every muscle in his body tenses.

Jared’s hand pauses halfway and he pulls away, giving Jensen room to breathe. “We should slow things down.”

“I…” Jensen tries to force his body to calm down, feeling too breathless to get a full sentence out.

“It’s okay.” Jared smiles softly at him. “It’s certainly not the right time or place for this.”

“I’m not-,” Jensen croaks, feeling once again like an innocent school girl. He can’t look Jared in the eye, avoiding the disappointment he’s sure he will see in Jared’s eyes. He wants so much of Jared, but he doesn’t want it like this. No matter how strong their feelings are, they still barely know each other, and Jensen refuses to let his first time be on a couch.

“Ready?” Jared guesses. “I get it.”

“Y-you do?”

“Doing it, losing your ...It’s a big deal, trust me.” Jared’s hand slips out from underneath Jensen’s shirt, lifts it to Jensen’s face, forcing Jensen to look at him. “There’s no rush.”

Jensen frowns.  “But-”

“I don’t just like you for your body, you know,” Jared jokes, and the tension breaks. Jensen’s face cracks and he can’t stop the laugh that escapes his lips.

For a second, Jensen is distracted by Jared’s swollen lips and his flushed face, scarcely able to believe he looks that way because of _him_. He lifts a hand and gently pushes a stray strand of hair back behind Jared’s ear. “Thank you.”

Jensen lets out an undignified squawk as Jared slides his arms around Jensen’s waist tightly. “You hungry?” he asks as he presses his forehead against Jensen’s. “I’m starving. We could order some very unhealthy room service, eat it all too fast...and try and keep our hands off each other for more than five minutes,” he suggests.

Jensen lets out a sound that’s half sigh of relief and half laughter.

**********

They order cheeseburgers that Jensen can barely get his mouth around, a big bowl of chips to share, followed by the richest, sweetest, chocolate cake Jensen’s ever seen and, once every plate is empty, Jensen’s sure his stomach is going to explode.

He lets out a long moan and rubs his belly, receiving no sympathy from Jared.

“I told you so.” Jared grins. “Eat slower and chew more next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Jensen moans. “I’m dying.”

Jared laughs. “Not on my watch.” He shifts over until their thighs are pressed together and he runs his hand through Jensen’s hair soothingly. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Jensen just nods and angles his head back as Jared moves in closer. He leaves feather light kisses down Jensen’s neck, along his collarbone, before sliding Jensen’s shirt up just enough to press one more kiss to his stomach. “Better?”

“Much,” he breathes, already starting to feel the ache ease.  He wonders if he’ll ever get over the effect Jared has on him.

“My mom used to make the most amazing chocolate cake,” Jared says, as his hand returns to run through Jensen’s hair until Jensen’s eyes flutter shut.  “She’d create absolute chaos in the process, but it was always worth it.”

 “Your mom? But you live with your uncle.”

“Yeah, I do.” His hand pauses and Jensen opens his to eyes to glance at Jared. “My parents divorced when I was three, my dad moved away as soon as the papers were signed, and I never saw him again. After that, it was just me and my mom, and she loved me but...she was ill, unstable. She tried so hard to be a good mom but she refused to take her medication, didn’t like how they made her feel. After the fourth day in a row of me turning up late to school with no lunch money and odd socks, someone made a call.  I tried to look after her but I was ten, I know now that it wasn’t my job, but back then, we were all each other had.” Jared shrugs. “Came home from school to the cops and some suit packing my belongings into a bag. They said she wasn’t fit to look after me; I still remember the sight of her, standing in the doorway in pair of pyjamas that she’d been wearing every day for two weeks and the ice cold hand on my shoulder as I was being led away from her.”

“What happened then?” Jensen asks softly.

“They managed to track down my dad, but he’d started a new life and didn’t really want me in it.... But, I remember the day Uncle Lucas came to pick me up. I was living at a kids’ home, hating every second of it, and then he walks in, tells me he’s my uncle and that he’s there to take me home...Of course, instead of home, he took me to a diner down the road, fed me banana splits and pie until I was nearly sick. Best day of my life.”

“Where is she now? Your mom?”

Jared sighs. “Texas, and last I heard, she’s back on her meds. She sends me a card on my birthday, when she knows where we’re living.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah...” Jared nods. “She’ll never be like she was, but I think she’s happy, that’s what matters.”

Jensen gives in to his impulse and reaches over to slide his hand into Jared’s, his head dropping onto the firm shoulder beside him. “My mom died,” he tells Jared, “when I was eight. My father, he...he’s always pushing me to be better, pushing for more. I don’t think he’ll ever be satisfied.”

Jared squeezes Jensen’s hand. “Why do you keep trying to please him?”

“Because he’s my father, he’s all I have.”

Jared doesn’t say anything for a long time, but when he does, Jensen’s heart skips a beat. “Now, you have me, too.”

“And you have me,” Jensen croaks back, the emotions bubbling back up to the surface, making him want to laugh and cry, and suddenly, all he wants to do is pick up his violin and play, show Jared how happy he is with each joyful note. Instead, he wraps his arms around Jared and kisses him, feeling brave enough, for once in his life, to go for what he wants. Jared certainly doesn’t turn him away, sliding his own arms around Jensen’s waist like he plans to never let go.

With Jared’s touch and smell and taste overwhelming all his senses, he doesn’t hear the beep and click of the door being opened and someone entering the hotel room, not until he hears his father’s voice.

“Jensen?”

Jared and Jensen split apart like they’ve been burnt, simultaneously standing to face Alan. The shock of what he’s stumbled across is clear on his father’s face.

“Who are you?” He directs at Jared.

“Dad,” Jensen says weakly, “this is Jared...he’s my...we’re...” Jensen struggles to put a label on something so new.

“You’re gay.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, a realisation, and all Jensen can do is nod in response. “And you thought it would be okay to sneak him up here while I was out?”

“It’s my fault, Mr Ackles,” Jared jumps in. “He didn’t know I was coming.”

Alan looks at Jared sharply. “But he didn’t turn you away, did he? He was supposed to be practising, but it seems his music isn’t important to him _at all_.”

“That’s not true,” Jensen replies, but it comes out so quietly he’s not sure his father hears him. He feels lightheaded all of a sudden. He wasn’t ready for his father to know about his sexual orientation.

As he’s met with his father’s anger, Jared’s hand slips into his own in support, but instead of warm skin against his own , something rough is pressed into his palm; a scrap of paper.

“I want you out of this hotel, stay away from my son.”

“Dad!” Jensen protests, holding tighter onto Jared. ”Please.”

“He’s nothing but a distraction. I assume he’s the one who convinced you to disappear last night and return home late? I won’t let this bad influence ruin your life.” His eyes snap to Jared’s. “I won’t tell you again, get out!”

As Jared’s hand slides out of his, Jensen scrunches up his hand, keeping the paper safe in his grip.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen apologises to Jared as he slips further and further away from him.

“This isn’t the end of us, Jensen...I promise,” Jared replies. Their eyes never leave each other until Jared steps over the threshold and Alan slams the door on him.

“I’m disappointed in you, Jensen,” Alan says with little emotion. “After everything I do for you, this is how you repay me. You don’t even deserve all the work I’ve been doing for you today.”

Jensen blinks away the tears, wanting nothing more than to chase after Jared. “What?” he croaks, not meeting his father’s eyes.

“My meeting today was with the admissions director at the Conservatoire de Paris. He saw you perform last week and offered you a scholarship there. Pack your bags, Jensen, we leave for France tonight.”

“France?” Jensen chokes. “I don’t want to go to France!” How will Jared ever find him if he’s on the other side of the world?

“You’re seventeen, Jensen, you’ll do as you’re told.” Alan’s exit is the end of the conversation, and all Jensen can do is collapse onto the couch, finally letting the tears flood down his cheeks.

Slowly, he lifts his shaking hand and opens his clenched fist to find his gift from Jared. Unfolding the scrap of paper, he reads an email address scrawled in black ink, and Jared’s phone number, his only link to the most beautiful person he’s ever met.

***************

Alan watches Jensen sleep, amazed by his son’s ability to fall unconscious even as the plane takes off. The plane rumbles underneath him, as air hostesses in heavy make-up perform their regular dance that no-one pays any attention to.

Jensen has barely spoken a word to him since he announced their journey to France, sulking even more when he discovered Jeff would no longer be travelling with them. Jeff knew this day was coming and barely reacted to the news, sending just a fleeting look of concern to his pupil, shaking Alan’s hand and silently returning to his room to pack.

Alan had watched Jensen follow not long after, reappearing fifteen minutes later, Alan catching a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes as Jensen ran into his room.

He isn’t heartless, he handed Jeff a cheque before they left for the airport with a healthy amount scribbled in black ink. It’s enough to see the older man financially comfortable until he finds a new talent to teach. He’ll always be grateful for everything he’s done for Jensen.

His ears start to pop as the plane reaches high altitude and he swallows a couple of times. It’s dark outside, just the odd bright light on the ground still visible. He leans back in his chair and  turns to look at his son, still sleeping soundly, his head titled awkwardly in the upright seats.

He knows that once Jensen is settled in France, things will return to normal, and his son will thank him. With the potential he has now, and the training he will receive in Paris, he’s convinced his son will one day be the world renowned violinist he was always meant to be. Orchestras will be desperate for him to perform with them, and he’ll play all over the world, in front of huge crowds, not to mention Kings and Presidents. He’ll make people weep with haunting melodies and excite the masses every time he plays Flight of the Bumblebee at top speed. Mostly, his son will be someone he can be proud of. Not yet, but soon.

The seatbelt light switches off and he unbuckles the strap across his waist. Glancing over at his son, he sees the coat he’s using as a blanket has slipped to his knees, and with as much care as possible to not wake him up, he lifts the coat back up until it’s resting on his son’s shoulders. As he does, something slips out of the coat pocket and onto the floor.

Curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches down and searches blindly until his hand catches the mysterious item. He finds a series of numbers forming a phone number and soon realises what exactly it is he’s holding.

His son being gay doesn’t surprise him; he’s never taken the slightest notice of girls. Still, suspecting and being confronted by it, in the form of his son in a close embrace with another boy, is another thing entirely. Maybe, in another life, if Jensen didn’t have his gifts, if his wife was still alive, and they lived a regular old life of work and school and baseball games on the weekend, he could be happy for Jensen. He could invite the boy around for dinner to get to know him better, and lay down ground rules about what is and isn’t allowed under his roof.

But his wife is dead, Jensen’s destiny is a small wooden instrument, and he’s doing the best he can. He has to protect Jensen from anything that could come between him and his future, anything.

Without regret, he crumples the piece of paper up into a ball and stuffs it into his pocket out of sight.

******

 

**5 Years Later**

Jensen may be gay, but picking out a nice bunch of flowers is alien to him. He’s sure he stares at the selection of bunches for way too long, as if the right flowers will just rise up and fall into his hand if he just looks at them hard enough.  In the end, he looks to the florist with an exasperated look. The woman takes pity on him and picks out a reasonably priced bunch filled with flowers Jensen’s never heard of. He hands over the money quickly and makes a hasty exit.

He walks the ten minute journey from the shop to the cemetery, quickening his step when he glances up at the sky and sees angry clouds above him. He’s been to his father’s grave exactly once since he died, and that was for the funeral exactly one year ago, so finding the right tombstone in a sea of grey stones takes longer than he expected, but finally his eyes fall upon the engraved letters spelling out his father’s name.

He didn’t cry a year ago, when he became an orphan, and nothing’s changed, feeling numb once again. With dry eyes and an awkward feeling in his stomach, he places the bouquet down beside the gravestone. He doesn’t know why he had to come here today and do this, not when the flowers won’t last the week and not when the anger he feels towards his father has yet to fade.

He’s angry for the way his dad left him, angry at him for forcing Jensen into a life he had no choice over, angry at his father for leaving him alone in a world he wasn’t prepared for. Yet for all the anger still churning inside of him, here he is, unable to stay away. It probably has something to do with the way he hates himself just as much. He’s the one who is ungrateful for everything his father did for him, all those times he wished he was anywhere else but at violin practise. He hates himself for not being the kidney match his father needed to save his life.

He can’t help but think how he got to this place, standing here, his feet sinking into the soft grass, as he stares at his father’s grave. It was just before his eighteenth birthday, when his dad was diagnosed with kidney failure, and his plans to quit college and return to America to look for Jared were put on hold. He had unpacked his bags and, between lessons, dutifully drove his father to every hospital appointment, cared for him when he was too ill to look after himself.

He had worked harder and harder during lessons, as Alan grew weaker and weaker, the only thing keeping him going was the look of pride on his father’s pale face, as he sat and listened to his son play, the only thing he seemed to have the energy for. He couldn’t have left him, he couldn’t let him down, not then.  All he cared about was ensuring his father was proud of him till the very end, he could give his father that, if nothing else. 

He lived long enough to see Jensen graduate, his frail body sat in a wheelchair as Jensen stepped up to collect his diploma, a year earlier than most people in his class. By that time, Alan was too weak to fly, and a month had passed of back-and-forth visits to the hospital during visiting hours. He would bring his violin and play improvised tunes, lullabies that would send his father to sleep. Then one day he just didn’t wake up. Jensen didn’t pick up his violin again.

It was only after the funeral that he started his search for Jared. With little to go on, it had taken him a while, but after a couple of days of dead ends, he was directed to a MySpace page. An image of Jared sat in top left corner, older and more handsome than Jensen remembered, the sight still taking his breath away. On the right of the page he found music, and memories of the night Jared played for him came flooding back to him. Jared’s smooth voice sent shivers down his spine once more and he consumed all the music on the page, sticking the songs on repeat until he knew the lyrics by heart, and found himself singing along.

Jared, _his_ Jared, was a bona fide musician, with an album and producers and, according to his Myspace page, thousands of fans. Clicking through the picture gallery attached, he found one more thing that Jared had. He stared at the picture of Jared with his arm around an attractive female until his eyes started to hurt from the screen brightness.  It was plain to see that Jared had moved on, found someone new, and Jensen certainly couldn’t blame him for not waiting. He had given Jensen his number and Jensen had never phoned him. He had searched everywhere for that slip of paper, devastated by its disappearance; the only link he had to Jared. 

So many times he had pictured what it would be like to see Jared again, what he would say or do. He realised that day that he couldn’t put his life on hold for a man he had known for only two days, and slowly but surely, he must move on, too. He gets a job at a coffee shop in LA, finds an apartment and a roommate, and, for the first time, chooses how to live his own life.

It begins to rain as he exits the cemetery and he lets himself get soaked, returning to his apartment shivering.

A head appears from the kitchen doorway, “God, you look like a drowned rat.”

Jensen gives Steve a weak smile to let him know he’s okay, “Forgot my umbrella.”

His roommate steps through the doorway, wiping his damp hands on his jeans. “How was the old man?”

Jensen shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head like he’s a wet dog.

Steve rolls his eyes, “Just get in the shower.”

The hot water pipes hiss and groan as he switches the shower on, steaming up the room quickly. He peels his clothes off, dropping them into a wet heap in the corner to be dealt with later. The shower warms him up instantly and, once the chill has left his bones, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist.

After pulling on a favourite pair of jeans and a simple gray shirt, he retrieves his damp wallet and his keys before making his way back out of the apartment, remembering this time to grab the umbrella on his way out of the door. It’s Murphy’s law that, when he steps out of his apartment building with his umbrella, the rain stops and the angry clouds move on.

It’s just after nine when he cross the street and enters the coffee shop. His career as a barista had been short lived but he had found more at _House Rules_ than just a pay check. Country rock is playing at a low volume as he steps into the shop that had always marketed itself as the anti-Starbucks, making it a popular hangout. The comfy seats are all filled and the smell of coffee is thick in the air. He’s unable to start the day without a tall cup of black coffee with two sugars and  Chris, his friend and former employer, keeps him in constant supply. Chris greets him with a big grin and a wave, sliding off the counter to make Jensen’s drink without Jensen having to order it.

“You’re late today,” Chris notes, as the coffee machine starts to splutter and steam.

“Had something to do this morning,” Jensen answers vaguely.

“Had something to do, huh? Or someone.” He winks. “Good night, last night, was it?”

Jensen rolls his eyes, “I would tell you I was alone last night, but I know you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Damn straight.” The lid clicks on to the paper cup and Chris pushes it across the counter as Jensen slides over the correct change. No matter how often Chris insists he doesn’t have to pay, Jensen stubbornly refuses to leave the shop without doing so.  “You coming in for lunch? I’m making hotdogs.”

“I’ll have mine with onions and mustard,” Jensen replies as he makes his way towards the door.

Back outside on the busy street, he takes a gulp of the steaming liquid, already starting to feel the caffeine take effect when he climbs into his car for the thirty-minute journey across the city for his only appointment of the day.

Tabatha Morris is a determined young violinist with wealthy parents who happily paid for music lessons, if it kept her happy and out of their sight. Jensen visits her castle-sized home once a week, with sheet music under his arm, which she consumes at an alarming rate. He never thought he’d make a great music teacher, but he makes sure to encourage his students in a way his father never did; he praises their successes, is always constructive when they make mistakes, and made a promise to himself to never push them too hard. He has a patience that his father never possessed, even with the most talentless of students. His ears, so used to hearing the most beautiful sounds, are now equally used to hearing discordant screeching and sharp deafening shrills.  

It had never been the plan, but he’d mention his qualifications to a friend and, suddenly, requests to teach daughters and friend-of-friends came in. He likes being able to work his own hours, and the triumph he sees on his students faces when they perform a piece flawlessly is worth it. Tabatha’s toothy grin is the highlight of the lessons.

On his way back to the car, after the hour’s up and he’s been handed his payment, his phone buzzes in his pocket.  He lifts the vibrating phone out and presses it to his ear without looking at the screen.

“Hello?”

“Guess where I am right this second.”

The voice is easily recognisable, though it has been exactly a year since he last heard it. He’s not surprised that Jeff calls him today, of all days. “Give me a clue,” he responds, slipping back into the familial relationship with ease.

“There’s sand, skinny girls and surfer dudes, and I think I just saw Lindsay Lohan.”

It’s not hard to guess. “You’re in LA?” Jensen frowns.

“You have some spare time this afternoon? I want to show you something.”

“Sure, when and where?”

“Two, outside the Getty.”

“See you then.” Jensen hangs up, his mind already trying to work out what his old music teacher has in store for him. He returns to the coffee shop at lunch, where he, Chris, and Steve escape to the roof for hot dogs and ice cold beer.

He gets to the Getty Museum just after two o’clock and easily spots Jeff leaning against a wall outside, looking unchanged since they last saw each other. He’s always seen Jeff as this strange equation in his life. Whilst being this calm constant that Jensen craves, and acting like the uncle he never had, he was also the only other person who saw his father for what he was, and never once stood up for Jensen.

He doesn’t know whether he’ll ever forgive Jeff for that, but he’s the closest thing Jensen has to family, so he knows he’ll always answer when Jeff calls.

“Damn, kid,” Jeff whistles out as Jensen walks over to greet him. “You’re looking great. Don’t tell me you’re into the whole yoga and wheatgrass smoothie shit.”

He feels uncomfortable with the attention and quickly changes the subject. “What are we doing here?”

Jeff grins, “You’ll see.”

Jeff leads Jensen into the museum, paying for their entry. They pass the crowds of tourists with large cameras and loud voices, missing most of what the museum has to offer and entering a small dark room, deep in the heart of the building. The sounds of the museum fade away as his eyes fall on the one glass cabinet in the middle of the room, and the bright lights shining down on the object inside, illuminating it in all its glory.

“You know what that is?”

Jensen nods dumbly. His mouth is suddenly dry and his fingers twitch at his side, unconsciously pressing down on invisible strings, something he hasn’t found himself doing in years.

“A Stradivarius,” he breathes.

He’s never seen one up close, and it’s the most beautiful thing Jensen thinks he’s ever seen.  After what seems like forever, Jensen tears his eyes away and looks at Jeff. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Why do you think, kid? You’re wasting your talent. God didn’t put you on this earth to teach teenage girls how to play Justin Bieber on the violin.”

“Jeff,” Jensen sighs. “You, of all people, know that I was pushed into the life my father wanted for me, it was always more his dream than mine.”

Jeff shook his head, “Your pa may have wanted it for you, Jensen, but not half as much as you wanted it for yourself.” He lifts a hand and places it on Jensen’s shoulder. “For the longest time, you’d play, and there would be this spark in your eyes, like you weren’t truly alive unless you were playing your violin. Yeah, your father wouldn’t have ever won Father of the Year, but give the guy some slack, he was a single parent just doing what he thought was best. He saw the same spark in you. God, everyone that saw you play knew you were meant for so much more.”

“What changed?” Jensen croaks.

Jeff shrugs, “I don’t know when it happened, when I came over to Paris to visit, you played flawlessly, but your heart just wasn’t in it anymore, the spark had just disappeared.”

Jensen connects the dots and  everything suddenly become clear to Jensen. “Jared,” he whispers almost inaudibly. He lost his fire when he lost Jared.

His eyes are glistening as he lifts them to meet Jeff’s. “Why now? Why are you telling me all this now?”

“There’s a music festival in four months’ time, at UCLA. They’ve asked me to choose the soloists for the opening concert, and I want you.”

Jensen looks at Jeff in disbelief. “Jeff, I can’t! I haven’t touched a violin in a year! Go find someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else, I want the best.”

“Jeff-”

“Some of the biggest names in classical music are going to be there, this could be your last chance to make something of yourself.”

“I can’t do it, Jeff.” Jensen shakes his head.

“Why? Because you’re scared you’re gonna fail? Or because you’re a stubborn sonovabitch, turning your back on an opportunity like this because it’s what your father wanted for you?”

Jensen frowns, “Low blow, Jeff.”

“Don’t do it for your father, do it for _you.”_

Jensen has nothing left to say and stares at the Stradivarius.  Jeff follows his gaze. “You know, you could be playing one of these one day.”

Jeff sighs when he receives no response from Jensen. “I’m staying at the LA Grande, room five fifteen, got auditions in Frisco on Wednesday, you’ve got until then to give me an answer.” Jeff’s hand slips from Jensen’s shoulder and then he’s gone. A group of noisy tourists replace him and Jensen frowns at the intrusion, feeling possessive over the priceless instrument, they don’t truly appreciate the beauty of the Stradivarius like he does.

He’s quiet at dinner time, and Steve sends worried looks in his direction between every bite of pizza. Jensen’s torn, a million feelings pushing through his heart, until he can’t sit still any longer, his appetite long disappeared. Steve eyes burn into the back of his head, as he rises from his seat suddenly and disappears to his bedroom.

He paces back and forth, wearing out the rug under his feet; one minute, feeling completely terrified at the prospect of performing again, then the next, his hands shaking with excitement. Old memories of concerts bubble up to the surface, and he still remembers feeling on top of the world as he played, completely lost in his own world, one that nobody could pull him out of, until the last note was drawn from his bow. He also clearly remembers wanting his father’s approval, and his father wanting so much more from Jensen than he could possibly give. 

Suddenly, there’s music cutting through his jumble of thoughts like a knife and he stops mid-step to listen. The singer, the voice sounds so familiar and he’s drawn out of his bedroom to the living room, where the music is coming from.

He finds Steve stretched out on the sofa, the music blaring from the laptop resting on his hips, “What is that?” He asks from the doorway.

Steve shrugs. “Some singer, I heard it on the radio on the way back from work yesterday.”

It doesn’t take Jensen long to realise who is singing, and just like it did the first time he heard Jared sing, his heart pounds in his chest. It’s only when the song ends that he realises how much he misses the feeling, how much he’s misses the spark that’s been absent for so long.

He returns to his room, collects his violin case, now covered in dust from neglect, and disappears out the front door without explanation. He drives through the busy LA streets with one destination on his mind, and doesn’t stop until he’s outside room five fifteen of the LA Grande hotel. He pounds on the door with a tight fist and waits impatiently for an answer.

Finally, Jeff opens the door, surprised to see Jensen standing in front of him, visibly vibrating, his violin case clasped tightly in one hand.

“I’ll need help...I’ll need practise.”

Jeff nods. “I can help with that.” He steps back to let Jensen inside.

**************

 

 

There’s a standing ovation when he plays the last chord, the guitar still humming under his fingertips as a wave of cheers and whistles hits him. The high-pitched screaming is sharp, like lightning, and incessant as he bows to his audience, grinning idiotically at his fans.

A young girl in the front row fights to be heard, as she pours  her heart out to him, and he looks in her direction, winks at her, and her alone, and feels the thrill of knowing he’s made one girl’s dream come true.

Before he’s even made his way off stage, the audience is chanting for more, shouting his name. He gulps down half a bottle of water, rolls his shoulders, and returns to give them what they want, a slight swagger of arrogance in his step. It’s hard not to when girls are falling all over him and promising him all sorts of sexual acts. He doesn’t find a single one of them attractive in any way, but it’s flattering to be wanted by so many people. When the concert is finally over, his whole body is trembling with excitement. It’s an addiction now; a natural high that he can’t get enough of. Jared still can’t believe that this is his life now.

Like every concert, his manager, Mark, greets him stage right with a slap on his shoulder. His eyes are wide, and Jared can almost see the cartoon dollar signs inside them. Mark’s been with him from the start, and no matter what the weather is outside, he’s always dressed in an expensive suit. The older man rarely stops to take a breath. If he’s not on the phone, he’s in meetings, or following Jared around from city to city. Jared imagines that any spare time Mark has must be filled with throwing money in the air and cackling like an old school villain.  They aren’t friends, it’s all strictly business. Not that Jared hates the man, he just doesn’t understand Jared. He is seen by his manager as a commodity, a performing puppet like Pinocchio who is good for little else.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Jared is herded out the back door.  Jared slides his aviator sunglasses over his eyes as he steps out into the noisy LA evening. It probably makes him look “Hollywood”, but he counts four paparazzi waiting to pounce on him with incessant flashing cameras and at least ten teenage girls, tenacious enough to follow him to every concert and seem to know exactly where he it at all times.

He doesn’t see himself as famous, he’s no Lady Gaga, for which he’s thankful for, but since being discovered in a bar in New York and releasing a couple of albums, he’s managed to build up quite the fan following.

It had certainly never been the plan to have a music career, though he’d never really spent much time thinking about what he wanted in the future. He never had huge dreams or aspirations, content enough living in the moment and enjoying what he had rather than lamenting on what he didn’t have. He was probably in the minority of teens who never dreamt of being a race car driver or a famous actor like everyone else his age. He suspects Mark had his whole life planned out, with bullet points and graphs, though he doubts the older man ever has any time to relish in having his dream career,

It was luck and chance that saw a music executive having a drink or four in the same bar Jared was performing in, and then it was Uncle Lucas’ encouragement that found him being flown to LA, before being styled and shown to recording studios with equipment Jared could only dream of.

Four years down the line, and after picking up an award or two, he’s a regular on red carpets and anywhere Mark sends him. After all this time, he still finds it strange that someone wants his autograph, or takes his photo whilst his mouth is filled with a half-pound burger with cheese and bacon. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the trappings of fame, and he’s not sure he wants to.

He’s not ungrateful. He will always love singing, his guitar held close to his chest as he performs and his fans make it all worth it, even the ones who want to know his choice of underwear and his home address. He loves travelling from state to state, where he can pretend like he’s back on the road with Uncle Luc, only with fancier hotels and an entourage. But with everything he loves about his life, there are just as many downsides.

He hates the plasticity of LA, how no-one is truly themselves. Every female spends her life getting plastic surgery and hair extensions, refusing to leave the house until they’ve created a mask of make up to hide their true appearance. He hates how everyone smiles with dazzling white teeth, even when they’re having a bad day because, God forbid, someone should see them showing emotion other than happiness.

But most of all, he hates what LA is turning him into. He’s always been a simple guy; he doesn’t need much in life. As long as he has his guitar, a bed for the night, and a good meal, he’s content. The longer he stays surrounded by fake friends and music execs who use him for their own gain, the more he feels like a complete alien. Some days, he doesn’t recognise himself in the mirror.

He’s styled into clothes he would never wear, made to play songs he didn’t write, and be seen on red carpets, where he’s so out of his depth that all he can do is be exactly what he hates, putting on a brave face and letting everyone think he’s having the time of his life.

He tells himself he does it for the fans, knowing they would be heartbroken if he walked away from all of it suddenly. It’s certainly made everything harder with him having to hide his sexuality, showing up to events with his arm around the waist of some model. He’s been told numerous times that his fans would desert him if they knew the truth. He’s told if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it, and yes, it’s cowardly and shameful, but music execs and managers, like Mark, spin so many webs of lies and half-truths, until you’re well and truly trapped in their manipulations. Jared’s not sure he could get out even if he wanted to, there’s certainly some small print in his contract which would cost him dearly if he breached it.

So he smiles and poses in front of flashing cameras and photographers who shout at him to look _their_ way long enough to get the money shot; he dresses like every other hot young star; makes himself be seen jogging in Beverly Hills, and drinking smoothies with gorgeous women, creating plenty of fodder for the gossip magazines until his record company is satisfied with him enough to let him play his own songs...whenever that will be.

**************

After running the gauntlet of fans and paparazzi, he’s herded by bulky men in dark sunglasses towards a dark sedan, Mark slipping into the car beside him. Jared frowns as the car passes the road that leads to his condo and continues up into the hills.

“Where are we going?”

Mark looks over and grins. “You’ll see.”

The car stops outside a large house at the top of the hill, the concrete and glass monstrosity is illuminated with bright lights that allow Jared to see into the home clearly. Jared would hate a house like this, everyone knowing his business, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl. He knows Mark’s own home is a carbon copy of this, just down the road.

As he walks up to the house, he can feel the thump of music playing and through the glass see people milling around, everyone wearing sharp suits and expensive cocktail dresses. The front door is opened for him and he’s instantly hit with a wall of sound from the stereo system and the cheers for his arrival.

“Surprise!” A hand slaps down on his shoulder and Mark appears from behind him. “Happy birthday, Jay-Bird,” he exclaims. A waiter materialises out of nowhere, balancing a tray of champagne flutes. Mark takes two and hands one to Jared. “Now, drink up, find a hot blonde who’s trashed, and take her to the bedroom before she sobers up, that’s an order.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “I’m gay,” he reminds Mark for the hundredth time.

Mark lifts the flute to his lips and downs the two hundred dollar per bottle champagne in three gulps like it’s nothing but water. “You need to loosen up and get laid. I’m going to go find you a girl; there’s got to be a few easy ones around here.” His eyes follow a young girl with pouty lips and a low cut top as she crosses the room, her hips swaying hypnotically. “Actually, forget you," he says, leering over the girl as she passes him. "Don't wait up." Before Jared can say anything, Mark disappears into the crowd after the girl.

Jared shakes his head and hopes the girl tells Mark where he can stick it. He takes a sip of the champagne and grimaces. To most people, it’s probably the best thing they have ever tasted but, to Jared, it’s just a huge waste of money. He’d rather have a beer, but he doubts he’ll be served one tonight.

It’s supposed to be his birthday party and yet every guest is a stranger to him, he doesn’t recognise a single face. The music blaring is just noise to him, manufactured on a computer without a single instrument in sight, and at the end of the room he sees a table covered in platters of sushi. He hates sushi.

Everything just makes him homesick. He wants a bloody steak and buffalo wings, he wants to sit outside and play his guitar until his fingers hurt and he’s shivering from the cool evening air. It saddens him to think that not one person in this life of his knows the true him. They either don’t care or don’t listen when he speaks, and it makes him want to scream.

Without any fight in him to leave, he pushes through the throng of guests who don’t even notice him, the supposed guest of honour. At the end of the room is another long wall of glass, though this one slides to one side to reveal the lit up swimming pool, delicate floating candles bobbing up and down in the rippling water, and strange patterns reflected on the wall of the house. He closes the glass door behind him to keep the sound in and lets out a sigh of relief as he walks to the water’s edge.

For the first time this evening, he’s able to take a breather and enjoy the relative quiet. So often he’s surrounded by people, he has to work hard to get time to himself. Kicking off his shoes, he drops down onto the stone and rolls up his jeans before throwing his legs over the edge and sinking them into the cold water.

It’s refreshing and he has to resist the urge to just jump in fully clothed as he kicks his legs up and down, splashing the water and creating waves in the once calm waters.

“Thought I might find you out here. Whoever’s idea this party was, obviously didn't know you very well, did they? Too much cleavage and not enough ass.”

Jared’s head whips around and lands on a figure leaning up against the house. “What are you doing here?” He asks, barely believing his own wide eyes.

“You thought I would miss your birthday? Never!”

Jared laughs, letting it bubble up out of him without restraint. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too, kid.” Lucas groans as he lowers himself down onto the ground beside Jared. “Now that I’m here, you can tell me what the hell is wrong with you.”

Jared frowns. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Don’t be lying to me, kid, I know you too well, you look like shit...I’m pretty sure it has something to do with this god-awful life you lead.”

“Luc,” Jared sighs, knowing his uncle wouldn’t understand.

“This isn’t you, Jay, none of it. The house, the people, those clothes.” Lucas tugs at Jared’s shirt. “Your music,” he adds softly. “I listen to it on the radio, Jay, and by God you can sing.”

“But?” Jared senses.

“It’s not you, Jared. There’s nothing of you behind those words you sing...that’s what made you great.” Jared’s shoulders sag in defeat and he drops his head down. “Look...back then, I thought I was doing the right thing by encouraging you into this. I pictured more for you than following me around the country, I wanted you to have everything you wanted and I thought that this was it. But I was wrong.”

“What do I do, Luc? How do I get what I want?”

“You need to stand up and make yourself be noticed. For once, fuck everyone. For once, take what you want.  Live your life for yourself."

“Easier said than done, don’t you think?”

Lucas sighs.  “Look, just set up a meeting with those idiots in suits who think they’re god’s gift to the world, and give them an ultimatum; either they give you what you want or you’re done.”

“And if they say no?”

“Then screw them! They made the biggest mistake of their lives by making you be someone you’re not. You don’t need them, Jared, not like they need you. I know your fans will still love you,  no matter what... Everything they force you to be, is it really worth it?”

Jared huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, realising just how much he missed having his uncle nearby. “How on earth did I survive this place without you?”

Lucas chuckles. “Must’ve had a great role model,” he teases.

“Yeah, that must be it.” Jared smiles. “You wanna get out of here and find a decent bar?”

With a mischievous look in his eyes, Lucas scoops up a handful of water and splashes Jared. “I thought you’d never ask!”

********

“Okay, what’s this all about then?” Mark asks as he descends into a plush leather chair.

Jared looks around the long table and each of the men sitting at it, all in expensive suits, and feels his resolve wavering at the intimidating sight in front of him.

It had taken a week to organise a meeting with the record company and all its associates, giving Jared plenty of time to work out what to say. Now that he’s here, his mind is blank.

“Well?” Mark presses. “Time is money, Jared. We’re busy people.”

“I...,”Jared begins, forcing his shaking hands into tight fists. “I want to write my own songs.”

Mark sighs. “Jared, we’ve talked about this.”

“And I want to be me, not what you’ve made me into. I’m gay, and I want my fans to know I’m gay. I hate lying to them.”

“Look.” A second voice joins in and Jared looks to the end of the table where an overweight man sits, a beeping blackberry clasped in one hand and a black espresso in the other. “Who you are does not sell records...what we made you into does. You think we’re stupid? We’re not going to let you commit career suicide!”

“What do you want, Jared? Do you want more money; is that what this is really about?” Mark asks.

“No!” Jared frowns. “I told you want I want, and if...”

“Yes?” Mark raises an eyebrow.

“If you can’t give me what I want, then I’m leaving.”

There’s silence for a moment before the group of men begin to laugh. Jared’s mouth tastes bitter as he stares at the chorus of chortles and howls, feeling humourless himself.

“You do say the most ridiculous things sometimes,” Mark says, as he wipes away a tear of laughter. “Only an idiot walks away from a deal like this.”

Jared stares at Mark with determination as he stands up. “Then I guess I’m an idiot.”

Mark’s eyes widen. “Jared...whatever you’re about to do, _don’t.”_

“No.” Jared shakes his head slowly. A thrill runs through him as he realises he’s finally fighting back and standing up for himself. “For once, I’m going to be who I want to be. And who I want to be is gay and proud of it. I want to wear a belt buckle with the word Texas on it,” he says, grabbing at the buckle wrapped around his waist. “I want to sing about losing the love of my life at eighteen, and how it’s left me hollow ever since... And most of all, I want to be as far away from all of you as possible.”

“You’re going to look back on this day in twenty years and realise this is the biggest mistake of your life!”

“No” Jared shakes his head “I don’t think I will...I think this is the smartest decision I’ve made in years”

Jared doesn’t say goodbye. He turns and walks away, ignoring Mark calling his name. He smiles. He’s free.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he dials his uncle’s number and waits impatiently for an answer.

“Jared?” Lucas answers. “What happened?”

“I’m out,” Jared breathes. “I left and I’m not going back.”

“I’m proud of you, kid. I want you to know that.”

“I know.” Jared’s eyes slide shut.

“What now?”

“I think I need to be alone, work out what I’m going to do.”

“Okay.” Lucas understands and, for that, Jared will be eternally grateful.

“I’ll call you, okay?” Jared ends the call and pushes the phone back into his back pocket.

Out on the street, he looks left and right, revelling in the simple choice. He feels lighter than he has in a long time, now that he has options and possibilities. He can now do what he wants to do, he can choose a new road to go down, and though he has no idea what that road is yet or what the hell he’s going to do with his life from now on, at least he has the choice to make the future he wants.

For now at least, he’s happy to let fate guide him in the right direction, and finds himself being drawn instinctively down the road to his left, away from all the designer shops and plastic surgery clinics, and into the unknown.

For all the time he’s lived in LA, he’s never had the time to explore the city, and it doesn’t take long to lose himself in the jungle of streets.

With the sun still beating down on the back of his neck, even as it is starting to set, he’s pulled towards the sound of a street musician, the guitar twang echoing between the streets, and as Jared rounds the corner, his eyes meet a young girl, almost dwarfed by the guitar in her lap.

He stops and listens to the sad melodies she creates and wonders at her talent, knowing that music execs like Mark would just walk past without a second glance. It only makes him question how many talented musicians are out there without a hope of getting a recording contract and how many famous musicians are just as unhappy as he was.  

She looks up at him as he empties his wallet of cash into her guitar case and her finger stumble on the strings, her eyes widening as she realises who is standing over her.

“You’re really great,” he tells her.

“Th-Thank you,” she responds, looking down at the money and back up at Jared.

“You’re welcome.”  Jared smiles back. He shoves his hands in his pockets and begins to move on when she calls after him.

“Hey!” Jared looks back. “Would it be okay to ask for an autograph?”

Jared grins. He might not have a recording contract anymore, but he’s safe in the knowledge that he has fans. “You got a pen?

She looks distraught for a moment and shakes her head.  “Shit,” she swears. “I’m so stupid.”

“Tell you what...You play here often?”

She nods.  “Whenever I can.  Work keeps me busy.” She shrugs.

“Well, be here tomorrow, same time, and I’ll make sure you get your autograph.”

If possible, her eyes widen even further.  “You serious?”

Jared chuckles.  “See you tomorrow.”  As he walks away, she begins to play again, but this time the music is bright and cheerful and Jared hums along until he’s too far away to hear the music anymore.

The air has cooled when he finally comes to a stop, his feet aching too much to go any further and, even though he’s completely lost it doesn’t worry him. He sits down on a bench facing a grand concert hall and takes a moment to catch his breath.

 As he wonders how easy it will be to flag down a taxi from here, a poster catches his eye. A concert, tonight, means nothing to him, but as he reads on, one name has his breath catching in his throat. _Jensen Ackles_. There can’t be more than one Jensen Ackles, and he’d know that name anywhere. Could it be? Was it really him after all this time? The one time he lets fate choose his path for him and it leads him here? It wasn’t a coincidence.

Jared makes the easiest choice he’s ever made and enters the building, completely unprepared for what’s to come.

***********

 

Jensen’s hands tremble too much to let him pick up his violin, and he paces the floor in the hopes of releasing some pent up energy. The inharmonious sounds of the orchestra warming up do nothing to calm him; instead, they remind him of his impending performance, his first in over a year. They remind him of concerts in the past and all the nerves that came with being a teenage performer with a father made of stone. No matter how many times Jeff told him he was good enough, that he was ready for this moment, Jensen’s still to be convinced.

It had taken too many hours to count to shake off the cobwebs, and there had been too many screeching notes and fingers slipping over strings, until Jensen was ready to throw his violin out of the third story window. Every time he played a wrong note he heard his father’s voice in his ear telling him to do it better. Had it not been for Jeff and his understanding, his calm presence, he probably would have given up in the first week. The first time he played his piece without a single wrong note, Jeff’s grin split his face in two and Jensen found something that he didn’t even realise he’d been missing.

When he played well, he could hear his mother’s voice, her laughter, just the way she laughed when Jensen played for her so many years ago. When he played, he felt the rush of emotion that came with every sad and happy note. When he played, he saw Jared’s face filled with wonder, and it made him want to play louder and longer, in the hope that he’s heard by the one man he never got over.

Still, playing in front of one person and playing in front of three hundred are two very separate things. One mistake could put an end to everything he’s worked so hard for; just one mistake. There’s a pressure to not only be good, but to be brilliant, and it’s a lot to live up to. His father isn’t alive to see Jensen’s return to music, it doesn’t mean he isn’t in Jensen’s thoughts. No matter how much he had tried to resist what Alan wanted for him, here he is again, back where he started. This time, though, he’s doing it for himself.

“Relax,” Jeff says softly from his place in the doorway. He’s standing in a tux similar to Jensen’s and, though it suits Jeff perfectly, Jensen swears he looks like a penguin.

“Easier said than done,” Jensen returns, without slowing down. He’s lost count of how many times he’s circled the compact dressing room and he’s starting to get dizzy.

Jeff pulls a chair out from under the dressing table and with a strong hand, pushes Jensen down onto it. “Sit, stay, breathe.”

“I can’t do this.” Jensen shakes his head.

“Yes, you can,” Jeff says firmly. “You’re more than ready. You’re gonna go out there and wow them all.”

 “Out of all the pieces of music you could have chosen, you had to pick Bach’s Partitia in E?”

Jeff chuckles. “You can play it in your sleep, and you know it.”

Jensen sends Jeff an unconvinced look.

“Jensen.” Jeff sighs. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then trust I know what I’m doing...I wouldn’t send you out there if I didn’t believe you could do this.”

“Five minutes!” A voice shouts from the hallway.

Jensen sucks in a deep breath and lets it out shakily.

Jeff reaches out and straightens Jensen’s crooked bow tie until he’s satisfied with the result. “Ready?”

“Hand me my violin.” Jeff reaches over and lifts the brightly polished violin from its case, handing it over to his ex-student.

“Now, I’m ready,” Jensen says, letting the instrument ground him. He pulls himself up to full height and makes his way out of the room, only stopping when Jeff calls his name. He turns to Jeff.

“I’m proud of you, kid...and I know your father would be, too.”

Jensen forces the lump in his throat back down and joins the trail of musicians heading for the stage.

He’d forgotten what it’s like, sitting, being viewed like an animal at the zoo. It all comes back to him as he takes his place as first violin, right at the front of the stage. The bright lights that heat up his face, the sounds of rustling paper as musicians do one last check over the sheet music, and the audience’s murmurs as they wait for the performance to begin, loud enough to be distracting, but spoken under breaths so no words can be heard.

Finally, as the conductor ascends the staircase, the audience quietens in anticipation, and Jensen can concentrate. The evening’s host appears, ready to begin the night’s proceedings and, as he introduces the first song of the evening, the conductor readies his orchestra, all eyes on him. He lifts his baton before the sharp brass sounds of trumpets at full volume fill the concert hall, the sound reaching every corner and filling three hundred sets of ears.

Jensen plays flawlessly and with every note he draws from his strings and bow, his confidence builds, but like a missing jigsaw piece, something wasn’t quite right. He can’t put his finger on it, not until it’s time for his solo.

“Our last performer of the evening,” the host begins, “is a young man full of talent and potential. Jensen Ackles first picked up a violin at age four and has been wowing people every since. After training at the Conservatoire de Paris, he took some time out from performing, so we are all incredibly lucky to be here tonight for his return. This impressive man weaves emotion with his bow like only the great violin masters can, and exudes a power in his performance which is undeniable. Tonight, I give to you, Jensen Ackles, performing [Bach’s Partitia in E](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4g5Q1p6C7ho).”

Jensen flushes at the exuberant introduction and stands as the clapping subsides. The applause is followed by absolute silence as Jensen lifts his violin to rest it under his chin and raises his arm, bow held tightly. Poised, Jensen’s eyes slide shut, seeing every note he needs to play behind his eyelids.

Someone in the audience coughs, someone else drops their programs with a flutter of paper. Jensen begins.

After preparing for this for so long, each note bursts into the concert hall with precision. His fingers dance across the strings and his bow saws back and forth sharply. Every eye is on him as he tackles the complicated piece of music, but it does nothing but make him play harder and louder, pulling the famous piece of music out of the violin with ease.

It’s not a long piece in comparison to some, but this is a sprint, not a marathon and when it’s over, he’s buzzing with adrenaline and feeling strangely out of breath. The minute he finishes the last drawn out note, the house lights are brought up and Jensen is barraged with bright lights and the sounds of the audience’s applause erupting.

He’d forgotten what it was like to receive such praise and he feels more alive than he has in months. He’s achieved something he wasn’t sure was possible; finding love in an instrument his father had forced him into hating.

With a shy smile, he bows low, and as he stands back up straight, he looks to the illuminated audience and freezes. Just in his line of sight, he sees him, standing shoulders above everyone else. He blinks, so sure he’s imagining things, and his heart starts to beat fast in his chest, feeling himself revert back to the horny teenager he once was. 

He looks older, but that’s to be expected after four years. Their eyes finally meet, drawn to each other like magnets, and Jared’s grin only widens. He stares back at Jensen with the same expression Jensen clearly remembers, Jared’s pride clear to see.  When the applause quietens, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts for an encore. Jensen can’t take his eyes off Jared, not even when an encore is granted on his behalf.

The host returns to the stage to introduce [Jensen’s second piece ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aZjw9pN0kX0)and, as he disappears, the house lights dim once more, plunging Jared into darkness. Jensen doesn’t care, he knows Jared is watching, and that’s all that matters. There he is, after all this time, after everything that’s happened, and suddenly he’s not playing to three hundred people, he’s playing for just one.

His encore is another piece of music chosen by Jeff, which both of them worked long into the night to perfect. It’s a far cry from Bach, the tempo slower and the melody almost haunting. Whilst the last opus exhibited Jensen’s skill, this piece displays Jensen’s control, his power over each note, manipulating them to his will and the emotion he can exude from the small instrument.

Each drawn out note is unwavering, so delicate yet so powerful, and his body sways with the motion of the bow. The music slides effortlessly from long sharp sounds to swift tremolos and from hauntingly slow notes to a moving crescendo, heightened only by the orchestra behind him.

He pushes himself harder than his father ever pushed him, utilising everything he’s ever learnt, creating something that leaves audience members’ mouths open and their eyes wide with wonder. With each high note and intense swell, dipping into gentle tones like a rolling wave, he reminds them what made them fall in love with music in the first place.

With Jared’s eyes on him, he finally feels the missing jigsaw piece fall into place. His soul mate is here, watching him perform, and suddenly everything feels right.  From the very first note, he floods the demanding melody with every emotion available to him, desperate for Jared to feel it all too.  He feeds the more andante sections with the fears and losses he once felt, once upon a time, before building up to the happiness he feels now and the anticipation of what is yet to come.

The last note feels like it goes on forever, the sound fading away into nothing, and forcing the concert hall into absolute silence once more. Jensen’s hands tremble, as his rollercoaster of a performance ends and he’s brought back to the present. His eyes open to an endless applause and he bows once more before accepting the bouquet of white lilies which is handed to him, all the while searching in the darkness for Jared’s face.

Finally, the house lights are lifted for the last time and instantly Jensen’s gaze finds Jared’s seat, only to find the seat empty. Jared is nowhere to be seen.

The end of the concert becomes a blur and he doesn’t remember how on earth he gets back to his dressing room. Jeff is there with a toothy grin and pulls Jensen into a tight embrace before pulling back enough to hold Jensen’s face in his hands. “You did it kid, just like I said you would!”

Jensen nods dumbly, unable to speak. He was convinced he saw Jared, and now he doubts his own sanity. Had he wanted Jared to be there so much his mind made it so? The thought that it’s just his mind playing a cruel trick on him leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“This is just the start, Jensen. God, there’s so much more to come.”

After a slap on the back, both figuratively and literally, Jeff leaves, shouting, “Call me tomorrow!” as he disappears out the door.

Outside, the orchestra members are high-spirited, thanks to a successful performance, and they laugh and natter as they pack up to go home. Inside his dressing room, Jensen’s mind is buzzing, as he tries to hold on to the image of Jared in his mind, only hurting his brain more. If he never sees Jared again, it’s that picture in his mind, a wide smile and eyes that seared through him, that he wants to remember forever.

He changes into a pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt, the process taking twice as long as usual with his weary limbs and blurred vision. Carefully, he packs up his violin, securing it in its case, before stepping out into the corridor. Most of the orchestra has left, the stragglers look just as tired as he does, and he passes them without a word.

The heavy stage door refuses to move until he pushes with his whole body, and it launches him out into the back alleyway with little grace. He lets out a groan and rubs his now sore shoulder, wishing he was fast asleep in bed and not standing in a dark alleyway looking like an idiot.

It’s only when he hears a low chuckle that he realises he’s not alone and his head snaps up sharply to confront his audience. “Do you...” Jensen trails off. It wasn’t a hallucination. “Jared,” he breathes, almost a whisper.

Jared is leaning against the opposite wall and, up close, he’s even more handsome than Jensen remembers, with chiselled jaw and movie star looks. It takes a moment to unite his memories of a teenage Jared with the Jared in front of him. Jared pushes away from the wall and crosses the alleyway in five long strides.

“You...you’re really here...I thought...” Jensen’s fractured sentences fill the silence between them.

“You,” Jared finally speaks, his voice deeper. “You are... _amazing_...I don’t think amazing is the word, but then I don’t think there is a word to describe what I just witnessed.”

Jensen latches on to Jared’s praise before he could be swept away by his unravelling mind. “You think I’m amazing?”

Jared nods. “I’m pretty sure I could watch you play for hours.”

Jensen loses the ability to speak.

“Do you think we could go somewhere? Talk?” Jared asks.

Jensen nods, digging his car keys out of his front pocket. “My car’s this way,” he croaks. He makes his way towards his car, checking back to make sure Jared is following him. Jared is a shadow behind him, so close, the back of Jensen’s neck tingles from the warmth.

Once confined inside the hatchback, Jensen struggles to focus. He still wants to pinch himself, unable to process that Jared is really beside him. He takes a deep breath and starts the engine, forcing his gaze on the road ahead, and not Jared’s vivid eyes and soft lips. What should be a simple ten minute drive home looks to be a challenge.

 

***********

 

Jared and Jensen barely speak during the short journey from the concert hall to Jensen’s apartment, and Jensen’s never hated the silence more. With every glance in Jared’s direction, just missing Jared’s eyes on him, the tension increases until Jensen feels like he’ll burst the minute they are away from prying eyes and eavesdroppers. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he steps into the apartment and sees Steve’s keys and wallet missing from the side table. He’s grateful that he won’t have to explain Jared to his roommate, he doesn’t want to share Jared with anyone, not yet at least. After throwing his own keys onto the table, he leads Jared into the living room. His violin is carefully placed on the coffee table before he crosses the room to the large sash window. He opens the window wide, letting the cool night air into the stuffy apartment. They have no balcony, but just outside the window is a flat section of roof that he and Steve sometimes escape to on hot summer nights. After collecting two ice cold beer bottles from the fridge, Jensen climbs out onto the roof and waits for Jared to follow him.

A stone digs into his palm as he sits on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the edge and his hands holding him steady at his side. His right leg twitches, a mixture of nerves and weariness taking over his body, and his breath hitches uncontrollably in the cool air.

Jared lets out a soft groan as he bends to fit through the window and pads out onto the concrete ledge with more grace than Jensen imagined. He compresses his tall body down until he’s sat beside Jensen before taking an open bottle of beer, clearly needing the liquid courage as much as Jensen does.

After what seems like hours, but is probably only minutes, Jared breaks the silence.

“You live here?”

Jensen blinks at the unexpected question and gulps down his mouthful of beer. “Huh?”

“Here, this is your home?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Been here about a year.”

Jared’s eyebrows draw together. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Jensen parrots. “Why oh?”

“Nothing.” Jared shakes his head. “It’s just...” He stops until a wailing ambulance has passed, the siren piercingly loud in the quiet streets. “You’re here, and I’m here, and all this time we’ve been practically in touching distance”

Jared’s words have Jensen suddenly aware just how close they are now, just the inches of two beer bottles separating them. The thought makes Jensen’s mouth dry.

“Yeah,” he croaks, before taking another gulp to quench his thirst.

“I looked for you, after...did you ever look for me?”

Jensen realises what Jared is implying, and his head snaps up achingly fast. After he lost Jared’s phone number, he wondered what Jared might think and he hated that he couldn’t do anything to change those thoughts. “Jared I....I looked.” He stops to suck in a deep breath before continuing. “I lost it.”

Jared’s frown deepens. “Lost what?”

“That piece of paper with your phone number on it...I lost it. I looked everywhere, made myself crazy looking for it. I was devastated; I thought I’d lost you! And I knew you must’ve hated me.”

“I did,” Jared confirms. “For a while, I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong, why you never called.”

Jensen’s throat is tight and his eyes fall away from Jared. “My father, he saw us, and just saw me throwing away everything I’d worked for, so next thing I know I’m on a plane to France,” he explains. “Just making it that much harder for you to find me,” Jensen adds with a sigh. “When I got back to the States, I looked for you, heard your music, then I saw a photo of you on the red carpet, your arm around some model. I stopped searching after that.”

Jensen didn’t know what reaction he expected to get from his story, laughter certainly wasn’t it. He raises an eyebrow at Jared’s chuckle.

“All this time, just _wasted_ because you saw a photo of me with my arm around a girl...a girl who agreed to play my girlfriend in return for exposure to keep the fans from knowing I was gay.”

Jensen’s eyes widen. “She was a beard?”

Jared nods. “Stupid music company had this vision of what would sell records...being gay wasn’t it. I walked out of a meeting with them today and I’m not going back, I’m gonna be who I want to be, not what they want me to be”

Jensen can’t imagine what it would be like to hide a part of him like that. He might not scream gay to those who meet him on the street, but he certainly never denies it. “So... you’re not with someone?” He asks carefully, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Me? No....you?”

Jensen shakes his head. “No, there’s no-one.”

His heart skips a beat when a shaking hand reaches over slowly and lowers over his own. Jensen stares at the two hands for a long time before dragging his eyes up to meet Jared’s.

“I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Jensen’s hand twists, until palm meets palm, then splays his fingers wide to let Jared’s fingers slide in and tangle with his own. “Me either,” he agrees softly. He’s sure he stops breathing when Jared leans in, going slow enough to give Jensen the opportunity to stop him. Jensen doesn’t. Instead, he lifts one hand off the concrete and presses it to the side of Jared’s face, his thumb pressed against his sideburn, his fingers pushed through Jared’s hair, and his palm resting gently along his jaw, encouraging Jared until their lips finally meet.

It’s exactly how Jensen remembers it, and he finds himself quickly swept up in the heady memories of soft lips, teasing touches, and a thrill he hadn’t experienced before or since, not until now, it seems. His fingers grip onto silky strands underneath like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling, as Jared boldly deepens the kiss until all Jensen can do is hold on and take everything Jared has to offer.

Jared still tastes the same and Jensen wonders how he ever went without this man’s lips against his own. It makes him all the more determined to make sure nothing ever pulls them apart again. He made the mistake of giving up on Jared once; he doesn’t plan to do it again. Later, when Jared’s unrelenting lips are swollen, Jensen will steal his breath away with promises and declarations.

Jared seems to have his own ideas of how the night will pan out, and Jensen’s body jerks in shock as a hand begins to slide up his thigh. The surprise knocks him off balance and if it wasn’t for a strong arm wrapping around his waist he’s sure he would have toppled over the edge. Their lips rip apart abruptly and as they suck in deep mouthfuls of much needed oxygen, the air is released back out as nervous laughter.

“Maybe we should move this inside, where there’s less chance of falling to our deaths before I’ve even seen you naked,” Jensen suggests boldly, barely recognising his own voice as the words come out of his mouth.

Jared’s mouth opens and closes, clearly stunned momentarily by Jensen’s forwardness, before choosing instead to smile and motion to Jensen to take the lead.

The bottles are forgotten, still half full and lukewarm, as they scramble back through the open window and into the living room. Jared’s fingers tease at Jensen’s waist with feather light touches that send shivers down his spine as he leads the taller man down the hall to his bedroom. With a firmer hand at his waist, Jared stops Jensen in the doorway and forces Jensen to meet his eyes.

“Are you sure about this?”

With a soft smile, Jensen takes Jared’s hand and pulls him into the room and kicks the door closed behind them. “I’m not a blushing virgin anymore, Jared, and I’ve waited too damn long. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

 It’s then, that Jensen’s boldness falters. He has more experience in the bedroom than Jared remembers, but this is the moment he’s been dreaming of since he first walked into the music shop, and he wants it to be perfect. He can taste the anticipation on his tongue.

With a shy smile he squeezes Jared’s hand, drawing comfort from Jared’s calmness, and walks backwards towards the bed, pulling Jared with him. With his eyes trained on Jared, dark pupils just visible in the dimly lit room, he sits at the end of the bed until his head is level with Jared’s Texas belt, proclaiming his origins proudly.

With the same nimble fingers that dance elegantly across strings, he unclasps the belt, his movements delicate but purposeful. Jared breathes heavily over him as Jensen pops the button and slides the zipper down almost torturously slow.

To move things along, Jared grips the hem of his shirt and lifts it up over his head, his body instantly reacting to the intake of breath from Jensen. Jensen’s eyes are wide as they take in the expanse of sculpted chest in front of him, begging to be tasted. He can’t resist leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss just above the vee of Jared’s open jeans, loving the way Jared’s stomach tenses under his touch.

Jared lets out a frustrated groan when Jensen pulls back completely; his warm breath against Jared’s abdomen replaced with cool air as Jensen leans back and slides up the bed, kicking off his shoes in the process. Jared can’t help but grin at the sight in front of him and wastes no time climbing onto the bed and over Jensen. 

“How often have you thought about this moment?” Jared breaks the silence, and the blush that spreads across Jensen’s cheeks is the only answer he needs. Leaning all his weight on one hand, Jared reaches down to run his hand across the flushed skin. “Absolutely perfect,” he murmurs, as he lowers his body down over Jensen’s like a blanket.

As their lips join once more, Jensen slips his hands in between their bodies to undo his own jeans, his once graceful hands now shaking uncontrollably, making the task take twice as long. Whilst Jensen pushes his jeans and boxers down over his thighs, Jared’s scorching hands slip under Jensen’s t-shirt to drag it upwards. With each inch of skin revealed, Jared licks and nips hungrily, leaving Jensen with little brain function. He moans and gasps as Jared’s tongue circles a nipple, before using what little brain cells he has left to slide his hands down Jared’s flanks and underneath the denim at his waist, forcing the material down and away.

Jensen lifts up enough to let Jared help him remove his t-shirt and, once it’s removed, he can’t help the shiver that shoots down his spine to his curled toes as naked chest is pressed against naked chest. He can feel Jared’s beating heart and the play of muscles under his skin as Jared’s body arches against his.

The air crackles with heat around them, cocooning them as they hold each other tightly, Jensen’s hand tracing the jutting out shapes of Jared’s shoulder blades and his spine, following it down with feather light touches until all Jared can do is breath heavily into Jensen’s neck.

The sounds of the front door opening and slamming shut has them tensing, frozen in their embrace. Jared’s eyes meet Jensen’s questioningly and Jensen winces.

“Steve,” he whispers.

Jared frowns. “Who’s Steve?”

Jensen detects jealousy in the man above him and he calms him down with a kiss. “My roommate, my friend,” he explains softly. 

“Hey, Jensen!” A voice shouts through the door. “How was the concert?”

Jensen’s eyes widen in horror at the thought of Steve barging in. “Good!” He shouts back quickly. “But I’m kinda tired now, see you in the morning?”

“I’m making you pancakes for breakfast!” Steve responds. Jensen listens to the sounds of heavy footsteps against the floorboards. They get quieter as Steve walks away and finally stop with the sound of a door shutting.

“He’s in his room.” Jensen sighs in relief. “I should have warned you that might happen.”

Jared chuckles. With his lips against Jensen’s ear, he speaks, his voice rumbling low and hushed, “Guess we’ll just have to keep the noise down, now.”

Jensen can’t stop the shudder that runs through him, his eyes sliding shut as he lets Jared take control. He feels Jared’s hand run down his chest and lower still, bypassing the swollen bulge that, so far, had severely lacked attention, and raising up Jensen’s bent knee. With a firm push, Jared widens the cradle made by Jensen’s outstretched legs and slots himself firmly against the man beneath him.

It leaves Jensen gasping for breath, each minute movement sending sparks of pleasure up his spine, until his mouth is dry and his body is screaming for more. He never wants these feelings to end and, if it were possible, he’d stay wrapped up in Jared forever, where all he can smell is the mix of Jared’s soap and sweat, all he can touch is warm skin and silky hair, and all he can see is the only person he ever wants in life.

He’s pulled from his thoughts with a jerky thrust and his eyes snap open in time to see Jared rear back, barely giving Jensen a moment to blink before he bears down hard, forcing his groin into Jensen’s.  Jensen begins to lift his hips up and meet each thrust, and as cock brushes against cock, sensitive nerves tingle and pleasure coils in their bellies.

He doesn’t know how much more he can take when Jared’s speed increases. Biting his lip to stop himself from crying out, he wraps his legs tightly around Jared’s waist and his arms over his back, blunt nails pressing into the skin beneath his hands.

When Jensen orgasms, his face is flushed, his skin slick with sweat and his muscles aching, yet he’s never felt so incredible. He bites his lip to stop himself from screaming out, nearly breaking the soft red skin in the process. As his eyes scrunch shut and his back arches sharply, his stomach is hit with the release of their lovemaking, warm and wet against his skin.

Though tired and spent, he keeps up his rocking motion for Jared.  So close yet so far, Jensen slides a hand between them, wraps his fingers around Jared’s reddened cock and pumps his hand up and down, adding more friction until his body his humming, creating enough pleasure to push him over the edge.  Jared’s forehead is pressed into Jensen’s and his breath hitches as his hips jerk uncontrollably, pressing his throbbing cock into Jensen’s own sensitive member.

As they attempt to calm their fast beating hearts and their laboured breath, Jensen lifts two shaking hands to frame Jared’s face, bringing it down the short distance to bring their lips together once more. They leave short kisses on each other’s lips, grounding them to this moment, determined to memorise this, and each taste and touch before it.

Muscles soon protest and Jared slides off Jensen and on to one side, his eyes never leaving Jensen’s. With neither wanting to be caught tiptoeing down the hall naked for a wet cloth, Jensen reaches over the side of the bed for a discarded t-shirt to wipe off the sticky mess covering their stomachs.  When most of their release has been cleaned away and the cooling sweat leaves them shivering, Jensen draws the covers over both of them.

Jared shifts onto his side and pulls Jensen towards him, wrapping an arm around his waist tightly until their body heat warms them back up.

“Worth the wait?” Jared asks, his chin resting on Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen nods. “Perfect,” he responds with a smile that refuses to fade.  “You should have been my first,” he adds. “I lost my virginity to this French cellist who wooed me with grand romantic gestures up until I jumped into bed with him... the next morning it was a like a switch had been flicked, he became a completely different person and didn’t want anything more to do with me. I was just a notch on his bedpost, nothing more”

“I’m sorry.” Jared holds Jensen even tighter, finding Jensen’s hand under the covers to squeeze it. “I might not have been your first...but I’ll be your last...your only, from now on.”

Jared’s words hit Jensen straight through the heart, and for a moment, he’s unable to breathe. With a lump in his throat, he nods gently. “I’d like that,” he croaks.

 

**************

It’s early when Jensen wakes to an empty space beside him, Jared’s shoes, upturned on the carpet, putting to rest any fears he might have that his imagination had played a cruel trick on him. He climbs out of bed, pulls on a pair of sweats, and goes in search of Jared. Padding down the hallway, he glances at Steve’s closed door before continuing on into the living room. His eyes fall on the open window, and through it, Jared sits, his bare back to Jensen.

As he clambers outside, he sees Jared sitting in rumpled unbuttoned jeans, Steve’s guitar in his lap.

“You know Steve could appear any second,” he says, as he drops down beside Jared, greeting him with a gentle kiss to the curve of his shoulder. His hand wraps around the large bicep, Jared’s skin still warm, even in the cool morning air.

Jared looks over and grins. “Guess he’ll get an eyeful then,” he responds, proving his point by leaning in to catch Jensen’s lips with his own. The kiss tastes stale and doesn’t lead anywhere, but Jensen’s heart still flutters. Just knowing Jared’s not going anywhere any time soon, and his father’s not here to force an ocean between them, makes Jensen smile. He can kiss Jared as many times as he wants and for as long as he wants.

“Tell me something,” Jensen says after their lips separate. His tongue darts out and licks his dry lips before continuing, “How did you find me?”

“I didn’t,” Jared answers. “I was just walking...no destination, just needed to clear my head after walking out of that meeting, and then I’m standing outside the concert hall staring at a poster with your name right there.”

Jensen’s head rests down on Jared’s shoulder. “Fate,” he whispers.

“Fate,” Jared repeats.

“What are you going to do now? Without the men in suits?”

Jared thinks about the young guitarist he met on the side of the street and smiles.  “I have a few ideas.”

Jensen doesn’t push him for further information, knowing they have all the time in the world. Instead, he reaches out with his spare hand and rests it over the top of Jared’s on the neck of the guitar. “Play me something,” he requests. “Like last time, on the roof.”

Jared chuckles. “On one condition.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Jared nods his head back and Jensen’s eyes follow, landing on his violin case, propped up beside the window pane. “Play with me.”

Jared waits patiently as Jensen opens the case with a click and lifts the instrument from its velvet lining. His thumb strums the rows of strings gently, the noise barely audible over the sounds of the waking city. Once Jensen is poised, violin resting under his chin and bow lifted into the air, Jared begins to play.

Music fills the air, a soft intricate tune, slow and sweet _.  “[When I...I saw your face, It was like a space in my heart was filled,](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SS1h7lrzjDk)”_ Jared’s sings, emotion pouring from his lips and reaching Jensen’s heart like an arrow hitting bulls eye.  “ _It’s like I knew, from the very start, that you were every other part of me, and it’s like I have loved you since, from the moment when... since time began, you fill my heart.”_

Jensen absorbs it all, feeling his hands shake as he presses his fingers down on the strings and joins in. Whilst Jared sings, carrying the tune on his guitar, Jensen draws his bow across the violin, accompanying the music with long drawn out notes that fit perfectly against Jared’s, like this is the way it was always meant to be. The harmony sends shivers down Jensen’s spine and leaves his whole body humming.

_“Oh...oh love of mine, why did it take so long to find your touch? Hope was never gone, even though it took so long to find you, yeah, And it’s like I have loved you since, from the moment when... since time began, you fill my heart.”_

Jensen struggles to play as his throat tightens and wetness leaks from his eyes. More than one note comes out wrong, but he doesn’t care, not now, not when Jared looks at him and sings those words. He looks to the sunrise ahead of them, a crescendo of bright oranges and yellows, and smiles until his cheeks ache.  

Many people go their whole life without finding their soul mate, and it saddens Jensen to think they’ll never have what he has. Even when he was young and barely knew what love was, he had felt the electricity, felt something binding them together.  Even with distance and time between them, his feelings never faded and he _knows_ they never will. Forever might be a scary concept for some, but not for him. With the taste of happy tears on his tongue, the warmth of the morning sun against his skin, the thump of his racing heart in his chest, and the low strum and high warbling strings creating perfectly imperfect music for their ears only, he knows he has everything he’ll ever want.

He just needs to look Jared in the eyes to know he’s thinking the same thing.

_“You fill my heart.”_

 

**The music is all around us. All you have to do is listen.**

-          **August Rush**

 


End file.
